


Sacrificial Lamb

by pkmoonshine



Series: Bloodlines [4]
Category: Bonanza
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 55,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pkmoonshine/pseuds/pkmoonshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Adam and his wife, Teresa, are visiting with his family at the Ponderosa, someone from his (Adam’s) past arrives unexpectedly.   She is in deep trouble and desperately needs his help.   “Sacrificial Lamb” takes place within a month of “The Wedding,” and includes the addition of two non-cannon characters.</p><p>All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are property of their respective owners.  The original characters and plot are property of the author.   The author is not in any way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise, and makes no money from this work.  No copyright infringement is intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exodus

_“I’m NEVER . . . never, never, EVER gonna try and out bluff my brother playing poker ever again!”_ Stacy Cartwright vowed silently, as she crossed the yard, between the house and barn with bucket and shovel in hand. It all started with a friendly, penny ante poker game after supper last night . . . .  
   
   
 _“All right, OLDEST Brother of Mine,” Joe said, his face set like granite, void of any and all sign of emotion, “I’ll see your raise . . . . ” He dropped three toothpicks, one by one, on top of a large and still growing pile in the middle of the dining room table. “ . . . and I’LL raise it by FIVE more.” Again, one by one.  
   
“Dadburn it, Li’l Brother, you’re gettin’ awful greedy!” Hoss groused in disgust.  
   
“Not at all, Big Brother, not at all!” Joe retorted in a lofty tone. “I just figured that it’s time to start separating the adults from the children.”  
   
“Adults from the children indeed!” Adam remarked sardonically, as he and Hoss each took five toothpicks from their respective piles and added them to the one in the middle of the table.  
   
“Stacy?” Joe turned toward his younger sister expectantly.  
   
“Darn! I used up the rest of what little toothpicks I had on ADAM’s last raise,” Stacy sighed dolefully. “You guys wouldn’t consider extending me a little credit . . . would you?”  
   
“Not a chance,” Joe said firmly, “ ‘specially since you won’t be seeing your allowance again until sometime next month . . . . ”  
   
That was part of her punishment for the barroom brawl she had unwittingly instigated at the Silver Dollar Saloon on the night of Matt Wilson’s bachelor party two and a half weeks ago now. She had no idea . . . no idea in the world that the fracas would escalate to the scale it finally did. Thankfully, she was able to pay for the damage done to the Silver Dollar, through a stroke of sheer luck. Had that not been the case, she, in all likelihood, wouldn’t be seeing her allowance ever again until certain nether regions known for unbearably hot temperatures experienced a sudden cold snap.  
   
Pa HAD taken all those things into account . . . ._

“ . . . along with the fact that I was trying to help out a friend,” she murmured softly.

 _Bless his heart, he HAD gone a lot easier on her than he might have otherwise. Although Stacy knew and appreciated that, it DID make times like this difficult. “Looks like I’m done for the night,” she sighed again._  
   
 _“Well, now you just hold on right there, Little Sister,” Joe said. “You might be able to offer up something in trade.”  
   
“Like what?” Stacy asked warily.  
   
“Starting tomorrow morning, it’s MY turn to muck out the stalls for a week,” Joe said.  
   
“So?”  
   
“So . . . if YOU win, you collect the pot. If I win, you take MY turn mucking out the stalls.”  
   
“Now you just hold on right there, Li’l Brother,” Hoss protested with a scowl. “What do Adam ‘n I git out of it?”  
   
“Tell you what,” Joe said slowly, thoughtfully. “IF Stacy’s agreeable, the deal can include taking YOUR turn to muck out the stalls the week AFTER.”  
   
Hoss smiled. “I can live with that,” he agreed.  
   
“That’s just fine and dandy for the two of YOU, but what do I get out of it?” Adam demanded.  
   
“What do you want out of it, Adam?” Joe asked.  
   
“You was talkin’ the other night ‘bout how Benjy ‘n Dio ain’t had much chance at learnin’ to ride a horse,” Hoss said.  
   
“Yeah,” Adam nodded his head. “So what?”  
   
“So Stacy here’s ‘bout the best there is when it comes t’ teachin’ folks how t’ ride,” Hoss said, with a touch of pride. “Maybe we could sweeten the pot by havin’ HER teach Benjy ‘n Dio when they come in a couple o’ weeks.”  
   
Adam looked over at his wife, Teresa, seated next to Ben on the settee with her nose firmly planted in the book cradled in her hands. “Teresa? How does that sound?”  
   
No answer.  
   
“Teresa . . . . ”  
   
Ben reached over and gently touched her shoulder. “Teresa, I think y---”  
   
His words were rudely cut off mid-sentence when his daughter-in-law gasped and started violently. The book seemed to leap from her hands, arcing high above her head, and landing with a dull thud on the coffee table.  
   
“S-sorry I startled you,” Ben murmured a quick apology.  
   
Teresa noted her father-in-law’s quick, rapid breath, and dark brown eyes round as saucers. “L-looks like I should apologize myself . . . for startling YOU,” she said sheepishly.  
   
“I-I think Adam was trying to get your attention.”  
   
Teresa nodded her thanks, then turned and looked over at her husband expectantly.  
   
“We were discussing the possibility of Stacy teaching Benjy and Dio how to ride when they get here,” Adam said. “Is that alright with you?”  
   
“Stacy IS very good at teaching other people how to ride,” Ben hastened to assure his daughter-in-law. “You couldn’t ask for a better teacher, even if she IS my daughter and I DO say so myself.”  
   
Teresa smiled and nodded. “It’s alright with ME, Adam,” she consented, “IF Benjy and Dio WANT to learn.”  
   
“That’s fair enough,” Adam agreed.  
   
“OK, as dealer, I call,” Joe said. He fanned his cards and placed them down on the table. “We may as well declare me the winner here and now, Folks. I have a full house.”  
   
“Don’t count your toothpicks yet, Baby Brother,” Adam said, grinning from ear to ear. “If memory serves, four of a kind beats a full house.” He spread his cards, four sevens, nine of hearts high down on the table for all to see.  
   
Stacy exhaled the breath she had been holding. “Looks like I’M the big winner tonight,” she declared with a broad grin. “Read ‘em and weep!”  
   
“Wouldja look at that?! Nine . . . ten . . . jack . . . queen . . . and king of clubs!” Joe’s hazel eyes nearly bulged right out of their sockets. “Little Sister here was sitting on a straight flush, and a real high one at that!”  
   
“Looks like our baby sister speaks true,” Adam sighed. “Only one thing can beat THAT hand . . . . ” He started to push the large pile of toothpicks dominating the center of the table over toward Stacy.  
   
“Now you jus’ hold on right there, Adam!” Hoss reached out, placed a restraining hand on Adam’s forearm. “Y’ ain’t seen MY hand yet!” He placed his cards down on the table, one by one, smiling victoriously. “Ten . . . jack . . . queen . . . king . . . an’ ace . . . of hearts!”  
   
“I don’t believe this!” Joe squeaked, as he, Stacy, and Adam stared down at Hoss’ cards, their faces identical masks of shock and astonishment . . . ._

   
   
“Just my luck! The first decent hand I had all night . . . and Big Brother gets dealt a ROYAL flush!”  
   
Stacy paused momentarily, at the midway point of her trek between house and barn, to watch the sunrise. The murky, deep port wine, almost black sky faded into varying shades of maroon and blood red as the sun cleared the line of trees and mountains along the distant horizon. The deeper reds brightened to brilliant shades of crimson and scarlet, then to a luminous near orange.  
   
The words of a rhyme Silver Moon, her Paiute foster mother, taught her as a child many years ago rose to the forefront of her thoughts, as she turned and resumed her trek to the barn:  
   
“Grandfather Sun wakes from bed  
to sky of red  
fierce storms lie ahead.”  
   
That reminded her of another rhyme, one she had learned from her father. He had obviously learned it long ago, when he made his living as a sailor back east:

“Red sky at night,  
sailors’ delight.  
   
Red sky in the morning,  
sailors take warning.”  
   
Upon reaching the barn door, Stacy relegated the weather rhymes and their dire portent to the back of her mind, and turned her thoughts to the chores at hand. She shifted the shovel from her right to left hand, then reached out to open the door. As her fingers loosely closed around the handle, she noticed that the door stood slightly ajar. Stacy frowned. She had been the last one to leave the barn last night, and knew full well that she had firmly closed the door behind her.  
   
Stacy tightened her grip on the door handle and opened the barn door, slowly and quietly. She set the bucket just inside the door, then grasped the shovel in both hands. Allowing her eyes a moment to adjust from daylight outside to the dimness inside the barn, Stacy’s eyes moved slowly over every square inch lying within her field of vision. There was nothing amiss. She tightened her grip on the shovel, and stepped through the door, into the barn. “Hello? Is anyone there?”  
   
Her horse, Blaze Face responded with a soft whiney.  
   
Stacy nickered back in response. “Good morning, Blaze Face,” she translated her “horse” greeting into human English. “I’ll be right with you.”  
   
Keeping herself well within the deep shadows of the dimly illuminated barn, Stacy moved silently as Silver Moon had taught her, peering intently into all of the stalls, occupied or not. In the empty stall beside Sport II, the horse her oldest brother, Adam, had been using during his visit, Stacy spotted what appeared to be a large sack of potatoes, lying on a mound of straw, under a light, sky blue blanket. 

Suddenly, the “sack” rolled over. Stacy found herself staring down into a pair of blue eyes, nearly the same shade of bright sky blue as her own.  
   
“Hello,” the “sack” greeted her with a wan, tired smile. “My name’s Peggy van Slyke, though Uncle Ben, Adam, and the rest of the family probably remember me better as Peggy Dayton.” [1]  
   
“Pleased to meet you. My name’s Stacy Cartwright.”  
   
Peggy slowly eased herself from a prone to a sitting position. “You some long lost relative of Uncle Ben’s?”  
   
“Yes, I guess you might say that,” Stacy said wryly. “I’m his daughter.”  
   
Peggy’s jaw dropped. She stared up at Stacy through eyes round with shock and amazement.  
   
“Long story,” Stacy said, extending her hand.  
   
Peggy reached up and grabbed hold of Stacy’s hand with a grip surprisingly strong. “Adopted?”  
   
Stacy braced herself, then pulled, drawing Peggy to her feet. “Yes, I WAS legally adopted, though we found out later he’s . . . well, he’s ALSO my pa . . . by blood.”  
   
“ . . . uh, l-let me get this straight! Uncle Ben adopted you . . . b-but, he’s ALSO . . . your natural father?!”  
   
“I told you it’s a long story.”  
   
“Thank you, I . . . . ” A sudden wave of dizziness sent Peggy’s senses reeling.  
   
“Are you alright?” Stacy anxiously peered into Peggy’s wan face, while gently laying a steadying hand against her back, just below her shoulder.  
   
“F-fine,” Peggy stammered, squeezing her eyes shut against her spiraling, churning environment. “I guess I’m a bit light headed . . . haven’t eaten much in the last couple o’ three days . . . . ”  
   
Her cheeks and lips, stained with the fading remnants of cosmetics, stood out in stark contrast against her pallid skin. The dress she wore, custom made judging its precise fit, had been fashioned from silk, and dyed blue to compliment her eyes. It had a high empire waist, and square neckline, cut low to tastefully accentuate a pair of full, well rounded breasts. The hem of her skirt was torn and muddied, and a maze of deep wrinkles cris-crossed the garment in hopeless profusion. Golden tendrils of hair, escapees from what remained of an elaborate coiffure, encircled her face like writhing snakes, emphasizing a pair of enormous sapphire blue eyes and a square chin, set with stubborn determination.  
   
Gazing into Peggy’s eyes, Stacy was reminded of a fairy tale she had read not so long ago in a book she stumbled across during the course of a rainy day foray through the ranch house attic.  
   
Titled “The Handless Maiden,” it was the story of a young woman, whose father had inadvertently given her to the Devil to be his wife in exchange for wealth and prosperity. On the day appointed for the Devil to come and claim the daughter as his bride, she dutifully bathed, dressed herself in a white gown, and then sat down to wait. When the Devil came, he couldn’t approach her. An unseen force hurled him across the yard. He angrily promised to return again in a month. During that time, the girl was not to bathe.  
   
A month later, the Devil returned. The girl and her parents wept for grief. The girl’s tears ran like rivers down her palms and forearms, cleansing them of all the accumulated dirt, grime, and filth. Once again, when the Devil tried to approach her, he was tossed across the yard by an unseen force. The Devil ordered the girl’s father to cut off her hands, on pain of death for all. The girl submitted to the amputation, but her continued weeping cleansed the stumps of her arms, barring the Devil from approaching her.  
   
Ultimately, the Devil rejected her as wife. The girl subsequently set out on her own, and eventually met a king, who fell in love with her. They married, and she soon after became pregnant with their first child. The king went off to war just prior to the birth of the child, and through a series of miscommunications, the girl, now queen, believed her husband wanted to murder her and her unborn child. The young queen fled, giving birth to her son in the forest where she sought refuge. Her hands, amputated on order from the devil, were also restored. Eventually, the king, queen, and infant prince were reunited, and in the way of all fairy tales, lived happily ever after.  
   
Six engravings, skillfully rendered, with very fine detail, illustrated the story. One showed the pregnant young queen fleeing through the woods, for her life. Surprisingly, the woman’s face showed not the slightest sign of fear. Instead, it radiated a tremendous depth of strength, power, and fierce determination. Stacy also saw in that engraved illustration, a beauty there, that rare, awe-inspiring beauty, born of strength and courage, that permeates such a person’s entire being.  
   
Gazing into Peggy’s pale face and her enormous blue eyes now, Stacy saw the same courageous strength and obstinate determination. The face in that engraving had come to life, transforming paper and printer’s ink into flesh and blood. Then, in less than the wink of an eye, the image vanished, as if it had never been.  
   
“Oh m-my God . . . I . . . I think I’m gonna be s-sick . . . . ” Peggy turned, grasping the sides of the empty stall in which she had slept the night before, as a violent spasm of dry heaves shook her entire body.  
   
Stacy stepped over beside Peggy, placing her hands gently, yet firmly on her shoulders, hoping her touch might offer some measure of comfort and reassurance. She could not remember a time in her entire life when she had ever felt so dreadfully helpless. _“I wonder if this is the way PA feels whenever Hoss, Joe, or I’ve come home sick or injured . . . and HE can’t do anything about it either,”_ she mused silently.  
   
At length, the dry heaving lessened, leaving Peggy feeling exhausted.  
   
Stacy silently noted, for the first time, the gently rounded belly protruding from under the flow and drape of garment. “Come on, Peggy, let’s get you into the house.”  
   
“D-dizzy . . . not sure if I . . . . ” Peggy’s words faded into a soft, barely audible moan. Her eyes rolled up under her eyelids, and her entire body went limp.  
   
Stacy, with heart in mouth, grabbed Peggy’s inert body as she pitched forward. Clinging to the unconscious woman for dear life for fear of dropping her, she managed to ease her back down onto the straw covered floor.  
   
   
   
The sound of the front door opening, followed by the clattering staccato of booted feet against hard wood floor drew Adam Cartwright, still clad in nightshirt and robe, from the dining room and his early morning coffee like a shot. He found the front door standing wide open and his sister beating a straight path toward the stairs.  
   
“Stacy, you left the front door— ”  
   
“Adam, is Pa awake yet?” she rudely cut him off mid-sentence.  
   
All reprimands died a sudden quick death, upon getting a good look at her pale face and bright blue eyes round with alarm. “No, I don’t think Pa’s awake yet,” Adam replied. “Is there something I can do?”  
   
“There’s a woman out in the barn. Says her name’s Peggy van Slyke . . . . ”  
   
Adam frowned.  
   
“ . . . she told me you might remember her better as Peggy DAYTON.”  
   
Adam could feel the blood suddenly draining from his face. “P-Peggy . . . d-did you say . . . Peggy Dayton?”  
   
Stacy nodded. “She’s out in the barn, Adam. She’s in a real bad way.”  
   
“Let’s go!”  
   
   
   
Adam followed Stacy across the yard toward the barn, with chaotic thoughts churning through his head a mile a minute. Many years ago, Peggy had gone with her mother, Laura Dayton, to San Francisco to join Will Cartwright, his first cousin, who had gone on ahead to accept a job offer. The last he had heard of either Laura or Peggy was by way of a letter to his father from Will. In that piece of correspondence, dated a year, maybe a year and a half after the Daytons left Nevada, Will had told his uncle that he and Laura had agreed to call off their engagement. No reason given, other than the implied mutual consent.  
   
Adam himself left the Ponderosa and Virginia City soon after, finally settling down in Sacramento, where he met and married Teresa di Cordova, and established for himself a fine career and reputation as an architect. Though he hadn’t thought of Laura in the years following, Adam did occasionally think of Peggy, wondering what ever became of the rambunctious, spunky little girl, who he had briefly come to cherish almost as much as he now cherished his own daughter, Dio.  
   
Adam and Stacy found Peggy, where the latter had left her a scant few moments before, lying ominously still. With heart in mouth, he dropped down on his knees beside the unconscious young woman, and gently took her limp hand in his. It was alarmingly ice cold to the touch.  
   
Stacy knelt down on the other side of Peggy, facing her oldest brother. “Adam, she’s not . . . . ?”  
   
“She’s alive!” Adam exhaled a long sigh of relief. Still holding her hand, he gently patted her cheek and spoke her name in a quiet, firm tone. “Peggy? Peggy, can you hear me?”  
   
Peggy moaned softly at the sound of her name.  
   
“Stacy, g’won back in the house and wake Pa,” Adam ordered in a crisp tone, all-business. “Tell him I’m putting Peggy in the guest room downstairs.”  
   
Stacy nodded. In the next instant, she was gone.  
   
Adam rose to his feet, then leaned over and scooped Peggy’s limp, inert form in his arms. She moaned again as he lifted her, and stirred, though her eyes remained closed. As he walked back across the yard, he saw his father standing on the front porch, also clad in pajamas and robe. The anxious concern in Ben’s eyes mirrored all the dread Adam himself felt inside.  
   
“Go ahead and take her on into the downstairs guest room, Son,” Ben said, when Adam reached the front steps with Peggy. “I’ve asked Stacy to wake up Joe. I’m sending HIM into town to fetch Paul.”  
   
“We need to get her out of these wet, muddy clothes, Pa,” Adam said tersely, “the sooner the better. Her whole body’s like ice.”  
   
“Not WE, Adam, ME!” Teresa, also garbed in nightgown and robe, stood just inside the house with one of her own nightgowns, the red and white striped flannel, draped over her arm.  
   
“Mrs. Teresa, got towels, nice and hot!” Hop Sing announced as he marched into the great room from the kitchen, with a stack of steaming hot towels.  
   
“Thank you, Hop Sing, I’ll take them,” Teresa said, holding out her arms. “Adam, you take Peggy on into the guestroom. I’ll be there directly.”  
   
Adam nodded, and carried the still unconscious young woman toward the open door of the downstairs guestroom.  
   
“Teresa, is there anything I can do?” Ben asked anxiously.  
   
Teresa shook her head. “For now, I’m just going to get her out of those wet clothes and into something warm and dry,” she said quietly. “Apart from that, we’ll just have to wait and see what Doctor Martin says.”  
   
“You’ll let Adam and me know when she wakes up?”  
   
“I will,” Teresa promised.

   
   
Stacy, meanwhile, ran headlong down the upstairs corridor toward her brother’s bedroom. Within seconds, she skidded to an abrupt halt in front of the fast closed door. She balled her hand into a tight fist and pounded hard enough to rattle the door on its hinges.  
   
“Go ‘way!” a groggy masculine voice groaned from within.  
   
Stacy threw open the door, and bounded inside. Three running giant steps brought her to the side of his bed in less than a second. She placed her hand on his shoulder and shook him vigorously. “Wake up, Grandpa.”  
   
Joe opened one eye and glared murderously at her. “If you think for one minute you’re gonna weasel out of our bet last night . . . . ”  
   
“Pa needs you to ride into town and fetch Doc Martin. Now!”  
   
Joe immediately sat up, wide awake, every last trace of grogginess gone. “What happened? Someone hurt?”  
   
“You remember a woman named Peggy Dayton?”  
   
“P-Peggy Dayton?!”  
   
Stacy nodded. “I found her out in the barn a few minutes ago. She’s probably with Adam, Pa, and Teresa downstairs in the guest room . . . and from the looks of things she’s in a bad way. Pa wants you to ride into town and fetch Doctor Martin.”  
   
Joe threw aside the bedcovers and whipped both legs over the side of the bed. “Tell Pa I’ll be right down, soon as I throw some clothes on.”  
   
Stacy nodded. “I’ll get Cochise saddled, too, Grandpa.”  
   
“Thanks, Stace . . . . ”  
   
   
   
Doctor Paul Martin quietly stepped out of the downstairs guestroom, closing the door behind him. “You’ll be happy to know that Miss Dayt----no! MRS. VAN SLYKE is going to be just fine,” he wearily addressed the Cartwrights, Ben, Hoss, Joe, Stacy, Adam, and Hop Sing, all clustered together at the door. “All she needs is a few days bed rest and plenty of good, hot, nourishing food. And I DO mean PLENTY! That young lady’s eating for TWO.”  
   
Hoss’ jaw dropped. “Y-you mean . . . . ”  
   
Paul nodded. “She’s pregnant, five months along, maybe six.”  
   
“I kinda thought so,” Stacy said quietly.  
   
Joe frowned. “Y’ know . . . somehow, I can’t quite feature Laura Dayton being a GRANDMA,” he said slowly.  
   
“Yes, as I recall, Laura had a certain . . . helpless, childlike quality about her,” Ben recalled thoughtfully. A lot of men, his eldest son and nephew among them, were charmed and captivated by that quality. As for himself, Ben had always liked Laura well enough as friend and neighbor, and would certainly have accepted her as a daughter-in-law, had she and Adam married. Given his own druthers, however, Ben preferred strong, passionate, independent women. In years past, he had married three and cherished one more: Elizabeth Stoddard, Inger Borgstrom, Marie di Marigny, and Paris McKenna. Now, his life was blessed with three more such women: Stacy, the daughter he had with Paris; Teresa, the woman his eldest son finally DID marry; and Dio, Adam’s daughter, his GRANDdaughter.  
   
“Ben?”  
   
“Yes, Paul?”  
   
“I need to speak with you. Would you mind seeing me to my buggy?”  
   
“Not at all.”  
   
   
   
Ben and the doctor walked over toward the latter’s buggy in companionable silence. Paul carefully placed his black bag on the floor of the passengers’ side, then resolutely turned to face his old friend.  
   
“Ben, I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, but someone’s been beating that young lady,” the physician stated grimly, “to literally within an inch of her life.”  
   
“What!?” Ben favored the doctor with a bewildered frown. “Paul, are you sure?”  
   
The physician nodded. “Whoever it was has obviously taken care not to leave marks where they would show, but under her clothing . . . . ” he sighed, and angrily shook his head. “She’s covered with welts, cuts, and bruises. Her entire back is scar tissue and open wounds.”  
   
“O-open wounds?”  
   
“Yes, Ben, open wounds, recently inflicted!”  
   
“HOW recently inflicted?”  
   
“As recently as four, maybe five days ago.”  
   
Ben suddenly felt the wind being knocked out of him, as if he had just taken a hard physical blow to his solar plexus. “Y-you mean t-to tell me . . . someone’s been beating her . . . since . . . since---!?”  
   
“Yes, someone has been beating her throughout her entire pregnancy.”  
   
A murderous scowl deeply creased Ben’s brow. He unconsciously drew the fingers on each hand together, forming a pair of tightly balled, iron hard fists. “Whoever’s responsible ought to be taken out and SHOT,” he spat, “just like any other rabid animal.”  
   
“I agree with you, Ben, one hundred percent.”  
   
“Did she say who---?”  
   
Paul nodded. “The man’s name is Brett van Slyke, Ben. He’s Peggy’s husband AND the father of her unborn child.”

 

“THINK, Laura . . . . ”

Laura Dayton, clad in a powder blue silk dressing gown, trimmed at the neck and sleeves with feathers dyed to match, relentlessly paced the floor of the hotel room she shared with her aunt, wringing her hands in despair. “Aunt Lil, please! I’ve spent the last three days thinking, and thinking, and thinking some more, trying to figure all this out, but I don’t know! I . . . just . . . don’t know!”

“Damn it, Laura, we’ve GOT to find her! Think HARDER! The two of you used to live on the other side of the lake, over in Nevada. Surely you had friends . . . . ”

“That was a long time ago, Aunt Lil,” Laura whined petulantly. “We left there when Peggy was a little girl.”

“Laura, will you for heaven’s sake STOP that damned pacing?” Lil Manfred snapped.

Laura immediately stopped mid-stride, and gingerly took a step backward, raising her arms, as if to ward off physical blows. Though she stood a good head taller, and outweighed her aunt by a good fifteen, maybe twenty pounds these days, Aunt Lil was still an imposing figure, especially with that look on her face.

“Sit down.”

Laura meekly obeyed, seating herself primly on the edge of the bed dominating the center of the hotel room.

“We’ve GOT to find that sorry, pathetic little bitch, and get her back with her husband, where she belongs.”

“But, Aunt Lil, Peggy’s been so UNHAPPY . . . especially since she married Brett,” Laura wailed.

“Have you forgotten which side of the bread OUR fortunes are buttered on?” Lil rounded on her niece furiously.

Laura hunched down in her satin wrapper, shrinking away from the intense baleful glare her aunt leveled in her direction.

“Laura, please. Get this through your head. I lost nearly every penny of that fortune, I inherited from my late husband, MANY. YEARS. AGO. The only reason WE have a nice place to live in San Francisco, with nice clothes, and nice things . . . is because PEGGY is the wife of Brett van Slyke. If she’s LEFT him, you and I are out on the street DESTITUTE!”

“No,” Laura vigorously shook her head.

“YES, Laura,” Lil addressed her niece in the insultingly condescending way an impatient adult might speak to an extraordinarily stupid child. “The ONLY reason Mister van Slyke provides so generously for US, for you and me, is because Peggy is married to his son. If that stupid little brat does anything to change that, he WILL cut us off.”

Laura looked over at her aunt, through eyes round with horror and dread. “Surely he realizes we have no place to go . . . . ”

“I’m sure he does, but if Peggy leaves his son, OUR situation’s no concern of HIS,” Lil shrugged. “Why SHOULD it be?”

“Aunt Lil, Peggy told me he . . . that Brett . . . BEATS her!” Laura whispered, horrified. “That he’s BEEN beating her all along.”

“Well, if Peggy’d grow up and stop acting like a spoiled brat, maybe he WOULDN’T beat her,” Lil argued vigorously. “All right! I knew Brett had a temper, AND a bit of a jealous streak, but all men do, Laura. They DO! It’s the natural way of things.”

“Adam didn’t,” Laura said in a small, sad voice.

“You’re right! Adam Cartwright’s one of those rare ones who didn’t,” Lil ranted. “Now if you’d married HIM, you, me, AND Peggy’d be sittin’ real pretty on top of all that nice Cartwright money. I had it all set up for ya, Laura. I had Adam Cartwright in the palm of your hand, all wrapped up like a Christmas present, but YOU let him slip right through your fingers.”

“I loved WILL,” Laura said defensively, her voice tinged with lonely regret.

“You weren’t SUPPOSED to!”

“I . . . I couldn’t help it, Aunt Lil.”

“I don’t understand you, Laura. Adam Cartwright in the palm of your hand, and you cheerfully toss him aside to follow Will Cartwright, the no good, no account first cousin without a penny to his name, to San Francisco . . . only to have HIM dump ya a year and a half later.”

“It wasn’t WILL’S fault, Aunt Lil . . . . ”

“Well, what’s done is done,” Lil said in a dismissive tone. “We can’t go back and change the past. All we can do now is try and salvage the present. That means finding Peggy and bringing her back.”

Laura buried her face in her hands and began to cry softly. This was all such a terrible, dreadful nightmare. She prayed desperately for this horrid dream to end, that she might open her eyes and find herself back in her lovely bedroom in San Francisco, surrounded by that lovely light cream colored wall paper covered with clusters of tiny pink roses and ribbons, with the morning sun shining in the window.

Or maybe, just maybe, Laura might open her eyes and find that last thirteen plus years had all been a bad dream. She would wake up in that ranch house, she once shared with her late husband, Frank, and be a young woman once again. Her daughter, Peggy, would again be as SHE should be . . . an energetic little girl, without a care in the world.

Laura, Aunt Lil, and Peggy had accompanied Peggy’s husband, Brett, to Placerville, where, he had important business. So he and his father said, anyway. Brett had adamantly insisted on Peggy accompanying him, despite her advancing state of pregnancy. Laura’s thoughts drifted back to the frightful row she had overheard between Peggy and Brett the night before they had all left San Francisco . . . .

 

 __

“Brett, NO!” Peggy had protested, horrified. “The baby! The doctor says--- ”

 _“I don’t care WHAT any ol’ doctor says! YOU are MY wife, you’ll do as I say!”_

 _“But the baby!”_

 _“The baby’ll be fine!”_

 _“Brett . . . . ”_

 _“Are you having an tryst with Doctor Phillips?”_

 _Stunned silence._

 _“Well? ARE you?”_

 _“NO!”_

 _“You ARE!”_

 _“No, I’m not, Brett, I swear . . . . ”_

 _“Oh yes you ARE! You can’t wait for me to go to Placerville, can you? You can’t wait because the minute I leave you’ll be in Doctor Phillips’ arms.”_

 _“NO!”_

 _“Oh YES, you will!”_

 _Peggy screamed. Screamed in agony._

 _“You’ll be in his arms, letting him paw you like . . . like some kind of wild animal! ADMIT IT!”_

 _“NO! I WON’T ADMIT IT, BECAUSE IT’S NOT TRUE! IT’S A DIRTY, FILTHY, VICIOUS LIE!” Peggy’s angry, vehement denial ended in another agonized scream, this one worse than the last._

 _“ADMIT IT, YOU LYING SLUT!”_

 _“NO!”_

 _“I SAID ADMIT IT!”_

 _“BRETT, NO! PLEASE!”_

 _“I SAID ADMIT IT! YOU ARE HAVING A LOVER’S TRYST WITH THAT DOCTOR.”_

 _Peggy screamed again. “I’M NOT, BRETT. I’VE NEVER BEEN UNFAITHFUL TO YOU. NEVER EVER! PLEASE, BRETT, PLEASE BELIEVE ME!”_

 _Laura heard the sound of flesh making forceful contact against flesh, mixed with Peggy’s screams of agony and heart wrenching sobbing. Laura squeezed her eyes shut, and clapped her hands firmly over her ears. “N-no,” she sobbed. “Please, no! Don’t hurt Peggy, don’t hurt my little girl, please . . . . ”_

 

“Laura, snap out of it!”

Lil’s words, harshly spoken, forced Laura from her terrible reverie. She stared up at her aunt, her cheeks wet with tears, unable to speak.

“Here!” Lil snapped. She angrily threw a clean handkerchief down in Laura’s lap. “Wipe your face.”

Laura, her hands trembling, dutifully picked up the handkerchief and began to gingerly wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“I was just thinking . . . . ” Lil mused grimly. “Placerville’s a good hard day’s ride from Lake Tahoe . . . but, unless my memory of geography’s faulty . . . guess what lies on the OTHER side of the lake?”

“I don’t know!” Laura said petulantly.

“G’won, Laura, take a guess!”

Laura had no liking at all for the malevolent smile now oozing it’s way slowly across the lower portion of her aunt’s face. “I . . . I don’t know, Aunt Lil.”

“The Ponderosa!” Lil crowed.

“So?”

“So . . . isn’t that where Adam and his family live?”

Laura dolefully shook her head. “Adam doesn’t live there, Aunt Lil, not anymore. I heard . . . oh, its been awhile . . . but I heard that he lives in Sacramento . . . that h-he’s married now, and has a couple of kids.”

“Weren’t you and Peggy fond of ALL the Cartwrights? If memory serves, THEY were pretty fond of the two of YOU.”

“Y-Yes . . . I suppose so!”

“Well, Laura, I’ve done some checking around,” Lil said. “That Ben Cartwright’s a shrewd one when it comes to making money, no denying THAT! It seems he’s had a steamboat line running across Lake Tahoe for a few years now. The boat sails between a landing on this side of Lake Tahoe to another that’s . . . get THIS . . . on the Ponderosa itself.”

“So WHAT?”

“Honestly, Laura, I swear you’re thicker than a gallon of molasses!” Lil declared with an exasperated sigh. “The point I’m TRYING to make is maybe . . . just MAYBE our pretty Peggy took the boat across to the other side, and hooked up with the Cartwrights.”

“I don’t know, Aunt Lil, it’s been so long, and I . . . well, I stopped writing them after Will and I--- ”

“Think about it!” Lil snapped. “The Ponderosa’s convenient, and the Cartwrights are the ONLY ones I know who’d be stupid enough to take Peggy in, even if they knew full well who and what they’re up against, Adam or NO Adam. Laura, get dressed, and for heaven’s sake be quick about it! You and I will be taking the ten o’clock stage to Virginia City. We should arrive there around ten o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll have plenty of time to book a couple of rooms at the International Hotel and freshen up, before paying the Cartwrights a visit tomorrow afternoon.”

Laura’s heart sank. “Aunt Lil, I . . . I really don’t think this is such a good idea. Mister Meredith, I’m sure, has things pretty well in hand, and besides . . . after all this time the Cartwrights are . . . well, they’re no better than strangers. I don’t think Peggy would go there, I honestly and truly don’t.”

“I’m not going to stand here all day and argue the point with you.” Lil’s voice was ice cold. “We’re going to Virginia City today and tomorrow afternoon, we start looking for Peggy at the Cartwrights. End of discussion! Now, you get up and get dressed, while I go make the travel arrangements. When I get back, I want you packed and ready to go.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Laura sighed meekly.

 

Ben sighed and turned back the pages of his ledger to those dated the first of the month previous. Three times he had carefully added the long rows of figures, and come up with three different totals. Now he faced the distasteful prospect of going through the entire process a fourth time. He closed his eyes and began to gently massage his temples.

“Mister Cartwright.”

Oh blessed interruption! Ben slowly opened his eyes and looked up into the grim face of Hop Sing.

“Supper ready ten minutes.”

“Did I just hear you say supper’ll be ready in ten minutes, Hop Sing?” Hoss asked as he stepped through the open front door, into the house.

“Yes. Supper ready ten minutes,” Hop Sing curtly reiterated. “Where everybody go? Supper ready ten minutes, nobody here! Where Little Joe and Miss Stacy? Where Mister Adam and Mrs. Teresa?”

“Adam and Teresa are present and accounted for, Hop Sing,” Adam said, as he followed his wife in through the front door. “Joe and Stacy are at the pump outside washing up.”

Hop Sing rolled his eyes and shook his head. “If Little Joe and Miss Stacy all muddy again from mud fight, Hop Sing quit. Go back to China.” With that, he abruptly turned heel and marched resolutely toward the kitchen, muttering a string of invectives under his breath.

Hoss, Adam, and Teresa stared after the retreating Hop Sing, speechless, their faces nearly identical masks of utter bewilderment.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“What’s the matter with Hop Sing? Did he get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

Ben sighed. “I’m afraid it’s Peggy.”

“Peggy?!” Adam echoed incredulously.

“Yes, Peggy. Adam, you know how Hop Sing is. Doc Martin tells anyone of US to eat, well . . . he’s bound and determined we’re going to eat, come hell or high water.”

“So . . . what’s this got to do with Peggy?”

“Today, Peggy was just as bound and determined that she WASN’T going to eat because she wasn’t hungry,” Ben replied acerbically, unable to completely mask his own frustration. “To say that this hasn’t been an easy or pleasant day would be a gross understatement.”

“I’m very sorry about that, Pa,” Adam murmured contritely. “At the same time, I hope you realize that poor girl in there . . . . ” he inclined his head toward the closed door to the downstairs guest room, “ . . . is sick, angry, and probably more frightened than she’s ever been in her whole life.”

“I know, Adam, I know . . . and I’m trying very hard to be patient, but--- ”

“Supper four minutes!” Hop Sing announced tersely and he ambled back into the great room, where most of the family had gathered near Ben’s desk. He carried a tray in both hands, with a bowl of chicken soup, a piece of toast with jelly, and a large steaming mug of hot chamomile tea. “This tray for Missee Peggy!” He thrust the tray into Adam’s outstretched hands, then ambled back toward the kitchen.

“Hey! What’s going on?” Joe called out an affable greeting to the family members gathered around his father’s desk, as he paused before the credenza just long enough to remove his gun belt.

“We were talking about Peggy,” Ben said.

Joe sighed and sarcastically rolled his eyes, remembering the set to between Peggy and Hop Sing at breakfast, and later at the noon meal. “Pa, don’t tell me those two are STILL at it!”

“I’m afraid they are, Joe,” Ben sighed disparagingly.

“Look! Why don’t the rest of you go on into the dining room and sit down?” Teresa suggested as she put out her hands to take Peggy’s supper tray from Adam. “I’ll take this to Peggy.”

“You sure, Teresa?” Adam asked.

Teresa smiled and nodded. “I intend to have a talk with her, too, Adam. Woman to woman.”

“Now hold on just a minute!” Joe protested. “Teresa, you can’t go in there and brow beat her for heaven’s sake. This kinda thing requires delicate handling.”

“Oh?” Adam queried with left eyebrow slightly raised.

“That’s right,” Joe affirmed with an emphatic nod of his head. “Adam . . . . ”

“Yes?”

“Between you ‘n me?” Joe continued sotto voce. “Teresa with her, ummm way of charging in like a herd of stampeding cattle works well enough in handling the kids, I s’pose . . . but a situation like Peggy requires at lot of charm and finesse from someone who KNOWS how to handle women.”

“I see. I’m almost afraid to ask this, Little Brother, but . . . you, uhhh . . . don’t have somebody specific in mind to . . . . ” Adam queried, half fearing he already had a very good idea who his youngest brother had in mind.

“Who else but ours truly?” Joe said with a bold, cocky smile that confirmed the very worst of Adam’s fears. He took the tray from Teresa. “I’LL take this in to Peggy.”

“This I’VE got to see,” Adam muttered sardonically under his breath.

Joe with tray in hand walked resolutely toward the door of the downstairs guestroom, his face set with grim determination. He paused at the door, and knocked.

“Who is it?” Peggy demanded sullenly from within.

“Joe Cartwright, Ma’am, with your dinner.”

“Go ‘way. I’m not hungry.”

“Peggy, Doc Martin gave strict orders for you to eat,” Joe countered in a honey-sweet tone of voice that prompted a soft groan and sarcastic roll of the eyes from his oldest brother. “ ‘Good food and lots of it,’ those were the doc’s exact words.”

“I SAID I’m not hungry.”

Joe frowned. “Peggy, this has gone far enough.” He opened the door and marched right in, bold as brass. “You are going to eat every bit of what’s on this tray . . . or ELSE!”

“ . . . or else WHAT?!”

“So much for charm, finesse, and delicate handling,” Adam murmured softly, his voice filled with fatalistic aplomb.

“Now you listen to me and you listen good. You are going to eat everything on this tray . . . and I MEAN everything or . . . or . . . or so help me, I’ll feed it to ya . . . like a baby!”

“Try it!”

“Alright, if that’s the way you want it.”

The sound of footfalls, heavy with anger and growing more so with each step fell on the ears of everyone still gathered around Ben’s desk, followed by the clattering sound of a tray slamming down hard onto a wood night table.

“Nice going, Baby Brother,” Adam sighed with a touch of sarcasm. “Half the soup in the bowl’s just gone all over the tray.”

“Adam, I really think this was a big mistake,” Teresa murmured ruefully.

“Ok, Peggy, you have two choices. We can do this the real nice ‘n easy way, or we can do this the hard way.”

“GET OUT!”

“Oooohh . . . kaa-aaay, you wanna do it the hard way? Fine!”

“I SAID GET OUT!”

“Open wide, Peggy . . . . ”

A guttural squeal of protest came in response through lips obviously fast closed.

“You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be . . . . OW! YOU . . . YOU BIT ME!”

“I’LL DO WORSE THAN THAT IF YOU DON’T GET OUT OF HERE AND LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT . . . I’M GOING.”

At that moment, Stacy walked in through the front door. “If I’d known you guys were calling a meeting, I’d have gotten back in here sooner,” she quipped, as she started across the room toward where the rest of her family remained gathered.

“PEGGY, NO! DON’T YOU DARE!”

The sound of Joe’s voice, raised in anger and healthy fear, halted Stacy mid-stride. She turned her attention to the guest room door, just in time to see the youngest of her three older brothers bolting out at a dead run. “Grandpa?”

Joe, now positioned between the door and his sister, caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and instinctively ducked. The supper tray he had taken in to Peggy flew over his head a split second later, smacking Stacy upside the head before she could even think of reacting, spilling soup and tea all over her and the surrounding floor. The force of the blow threw off her sense of balance, knocking her flat on her rump.

Ben and Hoss quickly moved to her side.

“Stacy? Are you alright?” Ben queried anxiously, as he and Hoss knelt down on either side of her.

“Only thing severely injured is my dignity, Pa,” she responded stiffly. “You have a handkerchief?”

“I’ve got a clean bandanna, Li’l Sister.” Hoss dug the bright red bandanna from his pocket and held it out to his sister.

“Thanks, Big Brother.” Stacy accepted the proffered bandanna and used it to mop up the chicken broth and tea from her face. “Now somebody’d better get me a wash cloth and a bar of soap.”

“After supper, we’ll get you into a nice hot bath if you’d like,” Ben offered, as he and Hoss helped Stacy to her feet.

“Pa, I need the soap right now for my mouth,” she said grimly, glaring daggers into the depths of the guestroom.

“Why? You haven’t said anything,” Ben protested.

“No, but I’m ABOUT to!” She turned and started toward the guest room.

“Now you just hold on a minute, Li’l Sister.” Hoss put out a hand to stop her.

“Hoss, let go of me!”

“Not ‘til you count t’ ten ‘n calm down.”

“I’ll do that AFTER Peggy and I have a nice little chat about good manners!”

Hoss grabbed his young sister by the waist and slung her over his shoulder like an inert sack of potatoes with almost ridiculous ease. “Looks like YOU need t’ cool off!” he declared, before turning heel and heading on a straight path to the door.

A long string of clipped, terse syllables poured from between her lips, as she struggled to free herself from her big brother’s firm grasp.

“Paiute, Pa?” Adam asked as he and Ben stepped to the threshold of the front door together.

“Yep,” Ben nodded. He turned toward his youngest son, who stood back away from the door, his eyes and face a mixture of contrition and regret. “Joseph?”

“Y-yeah, Pa?” he queried, mentally bracing himself.

“I think you’d better g’won upstairs and fetch down that washcloth and soap your sister asked for.”

Adam turned and looked over at his father in surprise. “You KNOW what she’s saying?”

“No, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t think I really want to know.”

“Then, h-how---!?”

“Son, I may not be able to give you an exact translation of what your sister’s saying, but from the WAY she’s saying it . . . those words’ve got to be some real humdingers.”

“ERIC HOSS CARTWRIGHT, YOU PUT ME DOWN, RIGHT NOW THIS VERY INSTANT!”

“Anything you say, Li’l Sister.”

Hoss dropped Stacy into the horse trough out front. She came up less than a second later, coughing and sputtering.

Ben rolled his eyes, then shook his head.

“Pa, look at the bright side,” Adam quipped, marveling, not for the first time, at how some things never changed.

“WHAT bright side?” Ben growled.

“That dip in the horse trough just saved Hop Sing from having to do extra laundry.”

Ben glared at Adam, then set off across the yard to intervene between his second son and only daughter.

Teresa moved into the place vacated by her father-in-law. “You think maybe it’s time Peggy and I had that conversation we should’ve had in the first place?” she queried sardonically, with eyebrow slightly upraised.

“Woman to woman?”

“Woman to woman.” Teresa gave Adam’s hand an affectionate squeeze, then moved off.

“Adam?” It was Joe. “I . . . I’m sorry . . . I guess I kinda made a mess of things . . . didn’t I.” It was a statement of fact, rather than a question.

“It’s MY fault, too,” Adam admitted ruefully. “If I hadn’t forgotten one of the very first lessons I learned after Teresa and I said, ‘I do,’ well . . . suffice it to say our big brother wouldn’t be at the horse trough right now doing Little Sister’s laundry . . . with her still wearing it . . . because I would NEVER have allowed you to take that tray in there in the first place.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Now let me get something straight here, Oldest Brother of Mine,” Joe continued. “You wouldn’t let ME go in there, if you’d had your wherewithal about ya . . . but you’re letting your wife walk into the den of that she-tiger?”

“Yep,” Adam replied. He placed a paternal arm around his youngest brother’s shoulders and lead him toward the dining room, making sure he took a path that lead well away from the guest room. “Little Brother, I’m gonna let you in on a secret most men don’t find out until after they’ve made that long walk down the aisle,” he said, taking great care to lower his voice. “The only person in this whole wide world who REALLY knows how to handle a woman is . . . another woman.”

 

Teresa, meanwhile, walked over to the guestroom door, still open, and peered inside. She saw Peggy lying in bed, her back pointedly toward the door. “Peggy?”

“Go ‘way.”

Teresa stepped inside and softly closed the door. “Peggy, you and I need to talk,” she said in a quiet, gentle tone that held in it all the firmness of steel.

“Why don’tcha just go ‘way ‘n leave me alone?”

“Because I . . . all of us . . . care about you very much, Peggy, and we want very much to help you.”

Peggy rolled over and glared up at Teresa, blue eyes meeting and holding eyes dark brown, almost black. “Has . . . has Adam told you who I am?” she asked derisively.

“Yes,” Teresa replied as she crossed the room from the door to the side of the bed Peggy occupied.

“Maybe more to the point, has Adam told you about my mother?”

Teresa drew up the only chair in the room along side the bed. “If memory serves, your mother is Laura Dayton,” she said in a bland tone, as she sat down. “She and Adam once loved each other very much. They were engaged briefly, ending it when she found that she was in love with Adam’s cousin, Will.” She paused. “Does that about cover it?”

Peggy’s shoulders sagged, as the angry wind left her sails. “Y-yes, I guess it does.”

“For your information, Adam told me about your mother and about the other significant ladies in his life during our courtship,” Teresa added. “I was equally forthcoming about the men I had loved in my own life, before Adam.”

Peggy lapsed for a moment into an uneasy, guilty silence. “Sorry,” she murmured at length.

“Apology accepted,” Teresa said. “My reason for coming in here is to remind you that Adam, Ben, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing remember you and your mother very fondly. Though Stacy and I don’t know you very well, at least not yet, knowing that the others care for you a great deal and want to help you . . . well, that’s good enough for us.”

Peggy averted her gaze from Teresa’s warm brown eyes to the window on the other side of the room, her eyes blinking excessively. “I’m . . . sorry I threw my supper tray at Joe just now.”

Teresa smiled and placed a comforting, reassuring hand on Peggy’s shoulder. “From what I heard out there, I’d say Joe probably deserved it. The ones you really owe apologies to are Hop Sing, Ben, and Stacy.”

“Stacy?”

“I’m afraid she got caught in the cross fire when you threw your supper at Joe.”

“Oh.” She turned and gazed earnestly into Teresa’s face, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I . . . I hope Stacy’s alright.”

“Stacy’s fine. Hoss took her outside to clean her up a little . . . . ”

Peggy winced, remembering the string of what had sounded in her ears as brusque, clipped, unintelligible syllables shouted at top volume. “Hoss didn’t take Stacy outside just now to clean her up. He really took her outside to keep her from cleaning my clock, didn’t he?”

“That, too.”

Peggy sighed and shook her head. “Maybe I should go back.”

“Back where?”

“To my husband.”

“That’s a decision only you can make,” Teresa said quietly. “At the moment, however, you’re in no shape to travel. The doctor was absolutely right when he said that you need to take the next few days to rest and eat.”

Peggy responded with a soft, morose sigh.

“Once you’re back on your feet, feeling stronger, then you can start making your own decisions as to what you’re going to do,” Teresa said, gentle yet firm. “But, Peggy?”

Peggy looked up at Teresa expectantly.

“You DO need to eat, not only for yourself but for the unborn child you carry. I know it’s not easy sometimes. I have two children of my own, and my morning sickness lasted throughout the entire nine months of my second pregnancy.”

“Right now, the thought of food just turns my stomach, Teresa,” Peggy groaned. “Maybe a bit of weak tea later?!”

“Alright,” Teresa nodded. “In the meantime, you rest. I’ll bring you some tea in a little while.”

 

“TODAY, Mister Adam, make sure Missee Peggy EAT breakfast,” Hop Sing admonished the eldest of the Cartwright offspring severely, the following morning. He placed a tray with two pieces of toast, no butter but with a generous spoonful of jelly on the side, and a mug of chamomile tea into Adam’s outstretched hands. “Miss Peggy eat! She eat for TWO now! All day yesterday, she not eat!”

“Hop Sing, I promise you, Peggy WILL eat today, starting with what’s on THIS tray, if I have to force feed her myself,” Adam responded with a confidence he was very far from feeling. He, then, walked over toward the downstairs guestroom in his father’s home, with tray firmly in hand, pausing to knock softly on the fast closed door.

“Come in.”

Adam opened the door and stepped inside. He found Peggy sitting up in bed, wearing the nightgown borrowed from his wife, Teresa the day before. Though her hair yet remained a tangle, all trace of the lingering cosmetics had long since been washed from her face. “Good morning, Madame, breakfast is served,” he said suavely, placing the tray on her lap. “Hop Sing left very strict orders for you to eat everything, and I do mean everything. Or else.”

“Or else WHAT? Another royal row like we had yesterday?”

“No, Peggy, yesterday in the course of that royal row, Hop Sing was merely taking your measure. Now that he’s got your number, you can bet on the consequences being worse. MUCH worse.”

A bare hint of a smile tugged at the left corner of her mouth. “How much worse?”

“You don’t want to know, Peggy, trust me.”

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“Can you . . . can you stay with me awhile?”

“Absolutely.” Adam took hold of the nearest chair and drew it up beside the bed. “I can stay as long as you want.”

“I want to apologize, Adam,” she said contritely, “for being such a rude, ill-mannered guest yesterday. I . . . I just don’t know WHAT got into me. I mean, here you all are, trying to help me and what did I do? I started the day picking a fight with Hop Sing, and later sent poor Joe fleeing from my room with my supper flying behind him, and . . . and ended up clobbering Stacy . . . not to mention poor Uncle Ben, bless his heart!”

“You were hurt, cold, sick, and angry yesterday,” Adam said quietly.

“ . . . and a lot scared,” Peggy added in a small voice.

“I think the others understand that.”

“Joe, Stacy, and Hop Sing were pretty mad,” she said contritely, “and . . . I don’t think Uncle Ben was very happy with me, either.”

“You can apologize to them later.”

“I hope they’ll let me.”

“You should know PA better than that,” Adam chided her gently. “As for Hop Sing and my youngest siblings, I know all the three of them burn bright and very hot when they get angry, but their anger passes quickly.”

“I hope so.”

“Now if you want a sure fire way of worming yourself back into HOP SING’S good graces, you’ll eat everything that’s put in front of you.”

“I’ll try, Adam.” Peggy picked up a piece of toast and spread a generous spoonful of jelly over its surface.

“How are you feeling today?”

“I feel a little better, actually. My stomach’s a bit rough, but I’m not feeling cold anymore or as sick as I was yesterday.”

“How about the others?”

“The hurt, angry, and a lot scared?”

Adam nodded.

“Adam, I . . . I need help,” she said. “Desperately!”

“I’ll do anything I can to help you, Peggy,” Adam earnestly promised. “I want you to know that.”

“Thank you, Adam. I . . . I think DID I know that, deep down. That’s why I ended up here.”

“How can I help you?”

“I left my husband three days ago,” Peggy said quietly. “He tried to kill me . . . AND kill my baby.” She took a bite from the piece of toast in hand, chewed, and swallowed. She placed the toast back down on the plate, then looked up into Adam’s face earnestly, her sapphire blue eyes locking and holding onto his brown ones. “I’ve already suffered TWO miscarriages because of . . . because of his . . . beatings. That’s two babies I’ve lost. I . . . I can’t bear the thought of losing a third--- ” Any further words were drowned in a sudden, fierce torrent of weeping.

Adam deftly removed the tray from Peggy’s lap, then gathered her in his arms in much the same way he did when she was a little girl, hurting and in need of comfort. “That’s right, Peggy,” he murmured softly. “That’s right, let it all out! I’m right here . . . and I’ll BE right here.”

Peggy buried her head against his shoulder, and wept, clinging for dear life. Adam Cartwright had, in so many ways, become the father she had lost so young, and so long ago. He had worked hard to cultivate her friendship in the first terrible weeks following the death of her own father, Frank Dayton, even though she had made her initial dislike for him perfectly clear. He was always so nice, with a warm smile, a pleasant word, the occasional present. Once, he had given her a pony, whom she named Traveler, and taught her how to ride. She remembered the games they played together, the picnics, the times he was there to comfort her when she was hurt or sad, and see her through life’s hard lessons like the wolf pup named Prince.

Peggy also realized, much to her shock and astonishment, how dreadfully much she had missed Adam over the years that had passed, since she and her mother left Nevada to follow his cousin, Will Cartwright, to San Francisco. Will was a wonderful man, and Peggy had loved him very much, but somehow he was never quite the father Adam had been.

At length, her tears finally subsided, and with them some of the anger and hurt that had built up over the years, especially since her marriage to Brett van Slyke. “Thank you, Adam,” she murmured in a small, quiet voice.

“I meant it when I said that I’m here for you,” Adam said. He dug into a pocket and pulled out a clean, if slightly wrinkled handkerchief. “I don’t want you to forget that.”

“I won’t.” She wiped her eyes with Adam’s handkerchief, then started to nibble gingerly on the toast. “So . . . what do I do now?”

“For the next few days, you follow Doctor Martin’s orders,” Adam said firmly. “You rest, AND you eat.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Pa’s gone into town today to run a few errands, and take care of business,” Adam continued. “He told me that he was going to stop in and see Lucas Milburn, that’s HIS lawyer, and make some inquiries. The rest will probably depend on what Mister Milburn has to say.”

Peggy, much to Adam’s relief, began to wolf down the remaining piece of toast in her hand. “Oh, Adam, there’s so much I have to figure out . . . where am I going to live? How am I going to support myself AND my baby?”

“I won’t lie to you, Peggy,” Adam said quietly. “You WILL have a lot of things to work out, a lot of decisions to make. It’s NOT going to be easy.”

“Y-you think I . . . I have what it’s gonna take for me and my baby to be on our own?”

“No, Peggy, I don’t THINK you have what it takes, I KNOW you have what it takes, and THEN some,” Adam said firmly.

Peggy finished the last of her toast, then looked up at Adam earnestly. “Thanks, Adam, I . . . I needed to hear that.” She sighed. “Sometimes, I feel so strong and powerful inside, I feel like I could go right out and single handedly push the entire Sierra Nevada Range into the Pacific Ocean. But, at other times . . . times like y-yesterday? I feel so overwhelmed by it all . . . . ”

“I know, Peggy, believe me . . . I know.”

“You, Adam? Somehow, I can’t quite imagine YOU feeling overwhelmed by anything.”

“There was the time Joe and I went out hunting for a lone wolf that had been preying on our livestock,” Adam said. “We trapped the wolf inside Montpelier Gorge. Joe shot and wounded him. Then I raised MY rifle . . . and . . . and f-fired--- ” A wave of dizziness swept over him, as the blood ebbed from his face leaving his normally robust complexion ashen. He slowly, one by one drew his fingers together into a pair of tightly balled fists in an attempt to quell his hands’ trembling.

“A-Adam?” Peggy peered over at him anxiously.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take deep, even breaths. The intensity of feeling, memories of that incident had aroused, shocked and stunned him.

“Adam, y-you don’t have to tell me if--- ”

He took one more deep breath, then slowly opened his eyes. “I’m alright, Peggy.” He managed a wan smile for her benefit.

“If it’s going to upset you, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I think telling you might do us both some good,” Adam said quietly. He fell silent for a moment to try and recollect his thoughts. “I fired at that wolf, after Joe’d wounded him, and . . . I missed. I . . . I ended up hitting Joe.” He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, ragged breath. “I had no idea he was even there. I SHOULD’VE known, but for some reason, the thought never occurred to me.”

Peggy quietly placed her had overtop Adam’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“The minute Joe fell, that wolf was on him. I beat the wolf off, using the butt end of my rifle as a club, then shot him, but not before he mauled Joe very badly.”

Adam told her about the arduous ride toward home, clasping his gravely wounded brother close, fearing Joe would die of blood loss before they had gone half way.

“Then . . . thank God . . . I met the Reardons.”

“Who were the Reardons?”

“Emmett Reardon was a retired coal miner from Pennsylvania,” Adam replied, as he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants along the length of his thighs. “He and his daughter, Sheila came out west from Philadelphia hoping a change of climate would help his. Mister Reardon’s lungs suffered a lot of damage breathing in coal dust over the many years he labored as a miner.

“For me, that day, they were an absolute godsend! Here they were, complete strangers, yet they willingly offered to take Joe and me home in their buggy. It was getting late by the time we reached the house, so I invited them to say over until morning. They accepted, and you know what, Peggy?”

“What?”

“I never had to ask their help,” Adam said. “They offered it. Sheila fixed us all dinner that night, and made sure there was plenty of coffee and sandwiches on hand. I spent a lot of time in Joe’s room, looking after him, keeping watch . . . falling asleep on my feet, literally. Sheila Reardon marched right in and bodily threw me out, with strict orders to go to bed. She and her father both took turns keeping watch on Joe through the night, and they patiently listened to all my ranting and raving.” He sighed and shook his head. “Peggy, everything that could have possibly gone wrong that day and night . . . DID.”

He told her about sending Hoss to Virginia City to fetch the doctor, and to wire their father in Sacramento. The doctor, however, was at the Fleming home. Mrs. Fleming was about to give birth . . . a breech birth. “By the time the Doctor Hickman arrived HERE, infection had set in . . . with a vengeance.”

“Even though you had already removed the bullet?!”

Adam nodded. “There was also the possibility that Joe had contracted rabies when the wolf had mauled him. Doctor Hickman prescribed some medicines, even went so far as to tell me Joe would die without them,” he continued wearily. “Then he had to leave right away because . . . well, if he wasn’t there when the baby came, mother and child would have almost certainly died.”

“They . . . they didn’t . . . did they?” Peggy queried, afraid to ask the question, yet more fearful of not asking.

“No,” Adam hastened to reassure. “Today, Mrs. Fleming is the proud mother of six boys and one girl . . . and proud grandmother of twelve grandchildren with three more on the way.”

Peggy exhaled an audible sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” Adam apologized.

“It’s ok, Adam,” Peggy said quickly. “Did Hoss get the medicine that Doctor Hickman prescribed for Joe?”

“Not in Virginia City,” Adam replied. “They were completely out. Hoss ended up going all the way to Genoa, to a pharmacy warehouse there.”

“Genoa?! Oh, Adam . . . that’s gotta be at least fifteen miles away!” Peggy gasped. “I would have been going out of my mind!”

“Actually, the warehouse in Genoa’s closer to being TWENTY miles away, and . . . I WAS going out of my mind,” Adam said soberly, “and . . . things were about to get even worse.” He told her about the man, whose last name was Dowd. Hoss had met him and his two companions in the pharmacy.

“Dowd and his partner claimed that the gunfire from our rifles . . . mine and Joe’s . . . had spooked a herd of horses they had captured out on the range,” Adam continued. “The frightened horses SUPPOSEDLY escaped, trampling the corral fences under hoof. That evening, Dowd showed up here, at the house, with two other men. He told me that Hoss had to go to Genoa, then demanded three thousand dollars for loss of stock and damages. Hoss told me later that when he had met them in the pharmacy, they had told HIM the cost of damages totaled ONE thousand dollars.”

“The only reason I can come up with for the discrepancy is they decided they were entitled to more because of the . . . well, the obvious wealth and success of the Ponderosa,” Adam said with a dark scowl.

“That’s not fair!” Peggy said quietly, with conviction. “Uncle Ben and the rest of you have worked very hard for what you have.”

“You’re absolutely right! It’s NOT fair!” Adam said bitterly. “But, fair or not, there’s a lot of people out there . . . who aren’t the least bit willing to shift for themselves, yet feel quite strongly, that men, like my father, owe them something.”

“What did you do?”

“I told Dowd I was willing to pay them reasonable compensation for the damage done to their fences and the stock they lost,” Adam replied. “But, I didn’t think three thousand dollars was reasonable. I finally told him payment would have to wait until I could ride up to their place and inspect the damage to their property. Dowd insisted that I pay him three thousand dollars right then and there. I finally told him and the two the men with him to get off the Ponderosa, or I’d press charges for trespass.”

“What happened then?”

“Dowd and his buddies bushwhacked Hoss on his way back,” Adam replied. “They stole Joe’s medicine and tried to hold it for ransom. To say I was feeling overwhelmed that night would be the understatement of the century! I even went so far as to promise myself that once everything was over, and Joe was out of danger, I would pack my bags and make tracks back east where things are supposedly more civilized.”

“But . . . you didn’t,” Peggy observed quietly. [2]

“No,” Adam said quietly. “I didn’t leave, because I learned two very important lessons that night. The first was the importance of having other people . . . family, friends, caring strangers like the Reardons . . . around to lend a hand during times of trouble. No one’s an island, Peggy. Sooner or later, we all need each other, and I think that’s the way it’s meant to be.”

“What was the other lesson you learned that night, Adam?”

“The other lesson I learned that night was the most important lesson I’ve ever had to learn in my whole life,” Adam said quietly. “I learned that no matter what happens, no matter how bad things get, I CAN muster the strength, the courage, whatever I need, to help me through. All of us have that inside us, Peggy.”

“What about my mother?” Peggy asked with a touch of rancor. “She was so fragile . . . so helpless and frightened, she couldn’t even bring herself to tell me that my father had died, at first. She told me he was off on a long trip somewhere, and that someday, he would come back . . . but, I knew, Adam. I think I knew from the start that he was dead, and she was deliberately lying to me.”

“Peggy, you’re NOT like your mother,” Adam said firmly. “You had a lot of spunk and plenty of guts when you were little. Remember the first time you fell off of Traveler?”

“Do I ever!”

 

 __

She saw her mother wringing her hands and weeping piteously, begging Adam to please, pretty please take back that pony. He was too dangerous, her pretty little Peggy could get hurt.

 _Adam, meanwhile, struggled desperately to keep hold of her long enough to check her over for broken bones or other serious injuries. She angrily shook him off with such force . . . she could see the shocked look on his face clearly, even now._

 _Before either Adam or her mother could think of making a move to stop her, she walked over toward Traveler, now placidly grazing, with her back straight and chin set with grim, stubborn determination. In less than a heartbeat, she was back in the saddle, urging Traveler to a fast gallop._

 

“Traveler and I made it all the way out to the road before you caught up with us,” she remembered with a smile.

“You had me scared to death, Young Lady.”

“I’m sorry, Adam.”

“No, you’re not! You’re just as pleased with yourself now as you were then . . . and you SHOULD be. Getting back up on Traveler took a lot of guts and a lot of courage.”

“Yeah . . . I think I can see that.”

“You still have that kind of courage,” Adam insisted. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“I . . . I don’t know, Adam,” Peggy shook her head morosely. “I’m not a little kid learning to ride a pony any more.”

“Maybe not, but you ARE a grown woman . . . expecting a little kid of her own . . . who’s recently decided to leave an abusive husband and found within herself the wherewithal to ACT on that decision.”

“That wasn’t courage, that was fear. I left because I was afraid he’d kill me and my unborn child.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Adam said. “Another way to look at it is fear for your life and the life of your unborn child gave you the courage to leave a bad situation you know, and step out into something completely unknown.”

“I . . . I never thought of it THAT way.”

“A lot of people choose to stay in dangerous situations, like the one you just left, because it’s something familiar . . . something they KNOW. Thank God, you found the wherewithal to leave.”

Peggy set the tray of empty dishes aside, then leaned over and gave Adam a big hug. “Thank you, Adam,” she said quietly. “Thank you for everything, especially for . . . well, for being there.”

“I’m thankful I CAN be there for you, Peggy.”

“Do you think Hop Sing would get upset if I asked for seconds?” Peggy asked, as they separated. “I’m STILL frightfully hungry and the toast seems to be staying down alright.”

“Peggy . . . . ” Adam rose, then leaned over and picked up the tray, “Hop Sing’s not going to be the least bit upset about you wanting seconds. In fact . . . .” he grinned, “ . . . I think he’s going to be the happiest man in the entire State of Nevada.”

 

“ON YOUR MARK . . . . ” Candy yelled at the top of his lungs.

Ben Cartwright, returning home from Virginia City, eased his own mount, Buck to a stop. Up ahead, one maybe two tenths of a mile, he spotted Candy on his favorite steed, Thor, a large, well muscled brown, standing in the meadow, just off the side of the road.

“GET SET . . . . ”

Joe Cartwright, seated atop Bonnie Prince Charlie, and Stacy Cartwright, on Sun Dancer stood side by side on the road itself, a little behind Candy’s position. In the far distance, nearly half a mile from his own position, Ben spotted Hoss.

Candy raised his gun and squeezed the trigger.

Joe and Stacy eagerly urged their horses to a fast gallop, before the last echoes of Candy’s gunfire were swallowed up by the thunder of hooves, pounding against the hard packed dirt road. Joe and Bonnie Prince Charlie immediately pulled ahead. Stacy and Sun Dancer kept to the pace, but made no attempt to pass.

With both eyes glued to the rapidly retreating backs of his two younger children, Ben quietly urged Big Buck on.

“Hey, Mister Cartwright!” Candy greeted him with a broad smile and wave as he approached.

“I thought you and Hoss told me Sun Dancer had Bonnie Prince Charlie eating his dust,” Ben said, as he drew Big Buck along side Candy and Thor.

“Keep watching, Sir. This race just got started.”

Ben silently watched as Joe and Stacy covered a third, then half the distance between the starting point and the place up ahead, where Hoss stood marking the finish line. Joe and Bonnie Prince Charlie edged ahead slightly. Stacy and Sun Dancer maintained their pace.

A few moments later, Joe and the Bonnie Prince reached and passed the three quarter mark. Stacy and Sun Dancer suddenly started gaining in speed, closing in on their competition with each step. At roughly fifteen yards from the finish line, Stacy and Sun Dancer drew along side Joe and Bonnie Prince Charlie. Less than a heartbeat later, the former began to move past the latter, beating a straight path toward the finish line. At Joe’s urging the Bonnie Prince increased his speed. But it was all to no avail. Stacy and Sun Dancer crossed the finish line a good three and a half lengths ahead of their opponents.

Up ahead, Hoss glanced down at the pocket watch in his hand, then let out a wild, joyous whoop.

“Come on, Mister Cartwright. From the sound of things I’d say Sun Dancer just beat his own record . . . again.”

Ben and Candy rode together to the place where Hoss stood waiting.

“Hey, Pa, didja see?”

“I sure did,” Ben replied. “For a minute there I thought sure you and Candy had, well, let’s just say I was beginning to think Sun Dancer’s speed and power were somewhat exaggerated?!”

“Part of our strategy, Pa,” Hoss explained. “Stacy ‘n Sun Dancer’ll keep pace with Mister Wilson’s General Ulysses, then . . . as they’re running down the home stretch, the two of ‘em pull ahead ‘n win the race.”

“How well did Sun Dancer do, Hoss?” Candy asked.

“He done shaved five seconds off his record,” Hoss replied.

“Where’s your brother and sister?” Ben asked.

“They’re headin’ on back to the barn,” Hoss replied. “They’ll cool down their horses as they go.” He quickly climbed onto the back of his own horse, Chubb. “So how’d things go in Virginia City, Pa?”

The smile on Ben’s face faded. “I spoke to Mister Milburn briefly, Hoss. He’s going to do some checking and come out tomorrow afternoon sometime, but . . . I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”

“How so, Pa?”

“We’ll talk later at home, Son.”

“Sure, Pa. How ‘bout the telegram?”

“Sheriff Coffee’s going to wire the police department in San Francisco and the sheriff over in Placerville about the van Slyke family,” Ben said grimly. “Roy suggested doing it that way to give matters the appearance of being official, as opposed to private . . . and, for the time being at least, I agree with him completely.”

Hoss silently studied his father’s face, noting the pallid complexion, how the lines and creases seemed more deeply etched than usual, and the eyes, round and staring. “Pa, this is real serious business we’re lookin’ at, ain’t it.” It was a quiet, straightforward statement of fact, not a question.

Ben quietly shared with Hoss some of the things Doctor Martin had shared with him yesterday morning.

Hoss, his face pale and knees trembling, draped one arm over Chubb’s saddle and held on for support. His pale blue eyes were unusually bright. “My G-God, Pa.”

“That’s why Roy suggested that I let HIM handle the correspondence,” Ben said gravely, “to keep our involvement and hopefully Peggy’s whereabouts under wraps. Any man capable of . . . of physically beating up a pregnant woman is capable of just about anything.”

 

“Teresa?”

Teresa turned from the guestroom window and smiled down at the young woman lying on the bed. “Yes, Peggy?”

“All last night and for a good bit of this morning, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Peggy said in a small, quiet, voice.

“And?”

“I’m feeling lots better now. I’m not feeling dizzy anymore . . . and though I felt a little sick this morning, it was nowhere near as bad, as it was . . . . ”

Teresa turned from the window and pulled up a chair beside the bed. “What are you trying to say?” she asked, cutting through to the heart of the matter.

“I guess I’m trying to say that I’m well enough to . . . well, to leave.”

“Where would you go?”

“Far away from here . . . from Virginia City . . . from the Ponderosa . . . from you, Adam, Uncle Ben and everyone else.” Peggy averted her eyes away from Teresa’s face and fixed them on her hands folded in front of her on the quilt. “Please, it’s not that I’m NOT grateful, because I am, more than I can say . . . . ”

“Then why are you so anxious to leave?” Teresa prodded gently.

Peggy swallowed, and forced herself to look up and meet Teresa’s gentle, yet penetrating gaze. “I don’t want any of you to get hurt.”

“What makes you think anyone’s going to get hurt?”

“How can you possibly ask me that, Teresa? I saw the doctor’s face yesterday, after he had finished examining me,” Peggy said morosely. “He knows, or at the very least has a good idea of what Brett’s capable of doing. He had to have told you.”

“He told Ben,” Teresa said quietly, “and Ben, in turn, shared with Adam and me.”

“Then you know full well I’m putting all of you in terrible danger by being here.”

“Does Brett know you’re here?”

“I didn’t tell him, or anyone else for that matter, where I was headed when I left his birthday celebration that night. To tell you the honest truth, I wasn’t sure where I was going either, when I started out. I just knew I had to get away. I didn’t even THINK of the Ponderosa until I was on that steamboat half way across the lake.”

“Has Brett ever met any of the family?”

Peggy shook her head.

“Then maybe he won’t even know to look here.”

“By himself, no! He wouldn’t know to look here. The problem is my mother and Aunt Lil. Sooner or later, they WILL think to look here.”

The unspoken implications shook Teresa to the very core of her being.

“Yes, Teresa, yes. Sooner or later, they WILL tell Brett to look here,” Peggy correctly interpreted the stunned look on Teresa’s face. “Aunt Lil will, anyway. As for Mother . . . . ” she sighed and shrugged her shoulders, “. . . these days, when Aunt Lil says jump, Mother asks how high.”

How could Peggy’s mother betray her so cruelly? Teresa knew beyond doubt that Peggy spoke the truth, by the set of her face and the sadness in her eyes. She also know beyond doubt that if her own daughter, Dio, ever married someone abusive like Brett, she would do her level best to kill him herself the first time he raised his hand against her. Assuming, of course, Adam didn’t get there first.

“Teresa?” Peggy ventured, hesitant to disturb the reverie into which Teresa had lapsed. “Please . . . don’t think too harshly of Mother. She can’t help being the way she is.”

“I’ll do my best,” Teresa promised reluctantly, “on the condition that YOU don’t talk anymore about leaving . . . at least until we get matters cleared up.”

Peggy opened her mouth to protest.

“Please, Peggy, hear me out,” Teresa gently, yet very effectively cut off any and all protests before Peggy could give them utterance. “To say that Brett is a man capable of terrible violence is to grossly understate the matter. We know that. We also know that if . . . or WHEN he finds out you’re here, he’s more than likely going to come after you. To understate the situation once again, there will be a lot of trouble, if he does come.”

“How can you say that so calmly?” Peggy’s voice shook.

“Because I know you’re safer HERE than you would be anywhere else,” Teresa said firmly. “Ben Cartwright, his sons . . . all THREE of them . . . Hop Sing, and Stacy in the time she’s been part of the family, have not only faced any trouble that comes their way head on, but they’ve actually taken on a lot that lesser men and women wouldn’t touch because they believe in fairness and justice for EVERYONE, not just the privileged few. That takes a lot of love, strength, courage, and outright cussed stubbornness, to quote Hoss.

“Ben, his sons, daughter, and Hop Sing are all pretty adept at handling rifles, if things should come to that. There’s also about fifty or sixty ranch hands working here right now. Most, if not ALL of them would take up arms in defense of the Cartwrights, the Ponderosa . . . and by extension, YOU, in a heartbeat. Brett would either have to be stupid or insane to even THINK of trying something.”

“Theresa, that’s just it! Brett IS insane!” Suddenly, her entire body tensed. She turned toward the window, ears straining. “Teresa?”

“Yes?”

“ . . . I think I hear horses.”

“That’s probably Ben and the others returning.”

 

Out in the living room, seated in the blue chair next to the fireplace, Adam’s sharp ears had also picked up the sound of approaching horses. He placed his bookmark in between the pages, then snapped his book shut. “Teresa?”

Teresa stepped put of the guest room, noiselessly closing the door behind her. “Yes, Adam?”

Adam placed his book on the coffee table and rose. “Stay close to Peggy,” he said as he made his way across the room toward the front door. “I’m going to step outside and see who that is.”

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“Please be careful.”

“Always.”

Teresa quietly stepped back into the guest room, closing the door behind her.

Less than half dozen steps taken at a brisk stride brought Adam to the front door. He quickly slipped on his gun belt and holster, then stepped outside.

 

“Hey, Kid, how’s about a friendly game of penny ante checkers after we stable the horses and get ourselves cleaned up?” Joe invited as he and Stacy entered the front yard walking Bonnie Prince Charlie and Sun Dancer respectively.

“No thanks, Grandpa,” Stacy immediately declined.

“Whatsa matter? You chicken?”

“Ask me again when my allowance is reinstated. Mucking out the stalls for the next month of Sundays is about all I can handle. I don’t wanna try for TWO.”

“Bwww-wwaaaak, bwak, bwak, bwak!” Joe squawked, flapping his free arm like a wing.

“Bwak, bwak, bwak, bwak, yourself! I don’t exactly hear you asking me AFTER my allowance has been reinstated.”

Unable to quite keep back the smile, Joe thumbed his nose at her.

Stacy responded by sticking out her tongue.

“Hey, Adam!” Joe turned and waved to their oldest brother standing on the porch. His eyes dropped to the holster and gun strapped around Adam’s waist. “I hope you’re not expecting company . . . . ”

Adam cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, then stepped off the porch and crossed the yard on an intercept course with his youngest brother and sister. “Actually, I’m not quite sure what to expect in the way of company,” he said, upon catching up to and falling in step along side them.

“Well, if that’s how you greet your friends, Adam, I’d hate to see--- ”

“Grandpa, I don’t think Adam’s kidding,” Stacy said noting the mouth set in a grim straight line and the jaw determinedly set.

“Whaddya mean . . . . ”

“Keep your voice down, Little Brother,” Adam said in a quiet, yet very firm tone. “I don’t want to upset Peggy, but the two of YOU need to be aware that sooner or later her husband of hers is going to start looking for her, if he hasn’t already.”

“So?” Joe queried.

“Little Brother,” Adam said with subtle emphasis on ‘Little,’ “this man, and I use that term very loosely, is capable of harming, maybe even killing the mother of his unborn child. If he finds out she’s HERE . . . . ”

“All right, Adam, I get the picture,” Joe snapped.

“Stacy, maybe you’d better keep closer to home until . . . . ”

“Don’t you worry none about our little sister here, Adam,” Joe stoutly took up for her. “The Kid’s well able to take care of herself, thank you very much. Pa, Hoss, Candy, AND I have seen to that . . . not to mention her Paiute family.”

Adam, much to his surprise, found himself inwardly bristling at the obvious omission. “You didn’t happen to see Pa while you were out, did you?”

His older brother’s clipped words and terse tone of voice brought an angry scowl to Joe’s face. “I thought I saw him coming . . . . ”

“You did?” Stacy looked over at Joe in mild surprise.

“Yeah. It was right after Candy fired the gun to start,” Joe said, addressing his sister in a kindlier tone. “YOU would’ve have your mind on Sun Dancer.”

“True,” Stacy agreed, leaving her oldest brother to wonder at how much truth lay behind Joe’s assurances as to how well she could fend for herself.

“At any rate, Adam . . . Hoss and Candy were coming in behind us,” Joe said in a tone that dripped icicles. “If that WAS Pa I saw back there on the road, he’ll probably be with them. Come on, Stacy, we’d better see to the Bonnie Prince here and Sun Dancer.”

Adam stood on the porch, arms folded across his chest, watching their retreating backs for a moment. Focusing all his attention on his sister, he unfolded his arms, slowly lowering the gun hand down next to his holster. He extended his first finger and thumb, loosely curling the other three fingers up next to his palm. “Oh, Stacy . . . . ”

“Bang, Adam, you’re dead!” Stacy stood facing Adam, with her thumb pointed up, first finger aimed dead on at his heart. She had pivoted and “drawn” on him so fast, he never even saw it coming, despite having his own eyes trained on her the entire time. Had Stacy been a gunslinger and her hand the gun it so aptly mimicked . . . .

Adam shuddered.

“Toldja so, Oldest Brother!” Joe quipped, the better portion of his good humor restored.

“Y-Yes, you most certainly DID,” Adam agreed soberly.

“Come on, Little Sister, we’d better see to the horses.”

A few moments later, Ben, Hoss, and Candy rode into the yard. All three of them were grinning broadly.

“Hey, Adam, where’d the babies of the family git themselves off to?” Hoss called out to his older brother, still standing out on the porch, staring after the path Stacy and Joe had taken to the barn.

“They’re . . . in the barn, seeing to the horses . . . . ” Adam replied in a hallow voice.

Hoss took Buck’s reins from his father, then accompanied Candy and horses into the barn.

“What’s the matter, Son?” Ben asked, as he stepped up onto the porch. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Pa . . . d-do you realize . . . Stacy’s . . . I think sh-she just may be faster than J-Joe was . . . at the same age!” Adam still had difficulty believing it.

“Yes, we’ve ALL taught her very well,” Ben said as they entered the house. He frowned. “I hope she didn’t put you up to any wagering . . . . ”

Adam shook his head, and smiled. “No, nothing like THAT, Pa.” He recounted the conversation he had with Joe and Stacy upon their return, and the subsequent showdown. “I never even saw her move.”

“That’s one of the reasons why I won’t let her carry a loaded gun yet,” Ben said soberly. “To be quick is a fine thing, Adam, and for many it’s meant the difference between life and death. One the other hand, it’s NOT good to be so quick you don’t leave yourself time to think about what you’re doing, and the repercussions.”

“That was one of the first things you told me back when I was learning how to handle a gun. As I recall, I was feeling a mite frustrated because of my slow timing.”

Ben smiled, remembering. “That was something I only had to tell you and Hoss ONCE,” he said as they stepped through the front door. “With Joe, I think ALL of us . . . you, me, AND Hoss . . . had to remind him on at least a dozen occasions---”

“ONLY a dozen?” Adam queried, with a bare hint of an amused smile tugging hard at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s when I stopped counting,” Ben replied.

“ . . . and Stacy?”

“I’ve have been and still AM reminding her of that.”

“Did you get that telegram sent?” Adam lowered his voice as they stepped into the house.

Ben nodded. “Roy sent two, one to San Francisco and one to Placerville. HIS idea. How have things been here?”

“Quiet.”

Ben suddenly paused mid-stride. “Someone’s coming.” He immediately turned and went back outside, with his oldest son following close at his heels. On the other side of the yard he saw the barn door open, and Hoss stepping out. Ben furiously gestured for him to get back into the barn, and hopefully keep Joe and Stacy there as well. Hoss nodded, and stepped back inside the barn, pulling the door to behind him.

“Hoss? What’s going on?” Joe demanded sotto voce.

“Maybe nothin’,” Hoss said grimly, lifting his gun from his holster. “But, just in case . . . how ‘bout YOU goin’ up in the loft ‘n keepin’ watch out that window up there. Stay outta sight, an’ DON’T fire, unless I do.”

Joe nodded curtly and set off.

“Li’l Sister, you take cover right here behind me, ‘n jus’ stay put.”

“Is that . . . Peggy’s husband?” Stacy asked, her voice barely audible.

“I don’t know,” Hoss replied, “but we ain’t takin’ any chances neither!”

Out in the yard, a black buggy pulled up, drawn by a single brown horse.

The driver was an old woman, attired in a bright, cherry red traveling suit. A mop of blonde ringlets framed a rounded face, with sagging jowls and chin line. Her lips and long, almond shaped nails matched the color of her outfit. Her rouge, powder, and foundation had been carefully, painstakingly applied. But, not even the best of cosmetics could erase the deep furrows in her forehead, locked into a perpetual, angry frown, or the tiny lines radiating away from ruby lips, unhappily pursed together.

The passenger, taller than the driver and heavier through the middle, leaned back into the deep shadows underneath the roof of the buggy. Though her face was completely obscured by shadow, two fine cascades of dusty blonde curls, flanking either side of her neck, spilled into the sunlight and fell across her chest. She wore a light blue traveling suit, stylish, and as well made as the red one worn by the driver.

“Well hello, Ben!” The driver greeted the Cartwright clan patriarch with a cold, mirthless smile. “Long time no see.”

“Hello, Lil.” Ben noted that she had lost a considerable amount of weight in the years since he had last seen her. Even so, she still remained a buxom, fine figured woman. Her eyes, the same pale blue color as those of his second son, Hoss, held no warmth. They seemed to glint like cold, hard steel in the warm late afternoon sunlight. He peered into the depths of the shadow inside the buggy, seeking the lines of the passenger’s face, concealed within. “Laura? Is that you?”

“Y-yes, Ben,” she replied in a small, timid voice. She leaned back hard against the seat, in an almost desperate attempt to escape the sunlight and the prying eyes of the Cartwright family, surrounding her on all sides. “H-hello.”

“Laura?!” Adam stepped down off the porch and walked around to the passenger’s side of the buggy.

Laura leaned forward into the sunlight, her eyes round with shock, her mouth hanging open. “A-Adam?!”

“This is quite a surprise,” Adam said, striving to keep his tone even. Laura’s appearance shocked him. She seemed to have gained every last ounce of weight Aunt Lil had lost, and maybe a few pounds more. Her blonde hair, laced generously with strands of silver, had been pulled back severely away from her face, accentuating its bloated roundness. Laura’s upper lip and eyelids were red and swollen.

“I . . . I’d heard you were living in Sacramento,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“I do, with my wife and two children,” Adam replied. “We, Teresa and I, are here visiting.”

“How nice.”

“I’m afraid we can’t stay long,” Lil announced, her light, bouncy voice a disturbing contrast to the steel in her eyes and the grim, determined set of her lower jaw. “Laura and I’ve come to pick up our wayward li’l gal.”

“What wayward little gal?” Ben asked with a frown.

“Peggy, of course! We’ve ALL been worried sick since she up and vanished into thin air right after Brett’s birthday bash, four nights ago, now,” Lil rambled on.

“Lil, what makes you think Peggy’s HERE?” Adam asked in a bland, almost bored sounding tone of voice.

“Where ELSE would she go?” Lil growled.

“Why any number of places,” Adam returned without missing a beat.

“Adam Cartwright, I don’t know what kind of an idiot you take me for . . . . ” Lil turned and vented the rage and fear that had grown inside her since Peggy’s disappearance.

“THAT’S a loaded question,” Adam observed wryly.

Lil closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep even breaths. At length, she slowly opened them, and smiled brightly. There was no warmth in her smile, and none of its brightness touched the dark, brooding intensity in her unwavering, lizard like gaze. “Ben,” she pointedly turned to appeal to the clan patriarch, “surely we can settle this like mature adults, without all this inane baiting and innuendo. I don’t know what Peggy’s told you . . . . ”

Ben, with arms folded across his chest, said nothing.

Lil was momentarily taken aback by Ben’s silence. “Yes, well . . . to, umm, bring you up on all our family news, Peggy’s married to a wonderful, kind, and generous man.”

“I suppose congratulations are in order.” It took every ounce of will Ben possessed to keep his tone neutral.

“Ben, Peggy’s pregnant now with their first child,” Lil blithely rambled on. “Surely, you know how pregnant ladies are, having been married three times yourself.”

“It’s been a number of years now, Lil,” Ben said. “Why don’t you refresh my memory?”

Lil inwardly bristled against the faint condescending element she heard in his voice. She took another breath, deep, slow, and even. “Pregnant ladies tend to be very emotional, given to hysterics.” She turned to Adam. “I understand YOU’RE married now, with a couple of kids. Surely YOU know what I’m talking about . . . . ”

“Can’t say as I DO, Lil,” Adam said with a bewildered frown. “We were both happy and delighted when we learned she was pregnant, of course, but on the whole, through out BOTH pregnancies, my wife was very cool, calm, and collected.”

“Lil, . . . and YOU, too, Laura, it’s been an unexpected surprise seeing you again, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our visit short,” Ben said in a quiet, yet very firm tone.

“Y-you’re not going to invite us in?”

“I would, but I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Ben said, not missing a beat.

Lil’s smile suddenly vanished, and with it all pretense of courtesy and pleasantness. “We’re NOT leaving without Peggy.”

“I’m still at a loss to understand why you keep insisting Peggy is HERE,” Ben said. “If I happen to see her, I’ll certainly be more than happy to let her know that you and Laura are looking for her.”

“I SAID Laura and I are NOT leaving without Peggy.”

“Lil, the Ponderosa IS private property,” Ben hastened to remind her, “and both you and Laura have overstayed your welcome. If the two of you AREN’T on your way by the time I count five . . . . ”

“The Ponderosa may belong to YOU, Ben, but Peggy belongs to her husband, who happens to be very worried about her. Laura and I are not leaving until you fetch her out.”

“If the two of you aren’t on your way by the time I count five, I’ll take you into Virginia City myself and have you both jailed for trespassing,” Ben said, his voice tight with anger. “One . . . . ”

“Ben, please . . . . ” Laura begged, with tears streaming down her face. “Peggy’s got to come back with us, she simply must.”

“Two . . . . ”

“Y-you don’t understand . . . . ” Laura sobbed. “You . . . you just don’t understand.”

“Three!” Ben said tersely. “I trust you both know the way back to the main road!”

“All right!” Lil snarled. “We’ll go . . . for NOW! But this conversation ain’t over, MISTER Cartwright. Not by a long shot!” With that, she angrily whipped her horse into a gallop and sped off.

 

Adam stood on the porch beside his father, waiting until their buggy disappeared from sight behind the barn, and for the sounds of horse hooves to finally fade to silence. He, then, turned and went back inside. A few steps, less than half a dozen brought him face to face with the closed door to the downstairs guest room.

He knocked.

“Come in,” Teresa invited.

Upon entering the room, his eyes fell on Peggy’s face first, her complexion pale and her enormous blue eyes filled with hopeless despair. “They’ve found me, Adam! Dear God, they’ve found me!” She buried her face in her hands and wept.

Teresa immediately slipped her arms around Peggy’s heaving shoulders and held her close. “We heard everything you said out there, Adam,” Teresa said, her voice taut with her own growing anger. “Word for word.”

Adam nodded, understanding. He quietly pulled up a chair next to the other side of the bed. When, at length, her tears abated, he reached out and gently touched her shoulder. “Peggy?”

“Y-yes, Adam?”

“I won’t lie to you,” he said quietly. “Lil and your mother have their suspicions, and Lil, at least, knows her suspicions are well founded, but that’s all they have. They have no concrete proof whatsoever that you’re here.”

“But, they KNOW, Adam . . . and they’re going to tell Brett.”

“More than likely,” Adam reluctantly had to agree. “Even so, you’re STILL safer here on the Ponderosa than you would be anywhere else. Pa, Teresa, my brothers, sister, Hop Sing, and I will ALL see to that.”

 

“Hey, Pa . . . . ” Hoss called to his father, as he emerged from the barn. His younger brother and sister followed at his heels, both looking grim. “Who was that?” He inclined his head in the direction of the rapidly departing buggy.

“Laura Dayton and her aunt, Lil Manfred,” Ben muttered through clenched teeth.

“Dadburn it! They know where she is now!”

“Surely they’re not going to go back and tell Peggy’s husband,” Stacy protested. “Not after what that . . . **** ” The word was Paiute, a vile word bordering on obscenity for a bully and coward. “ . . . did to her.”

“I’m afraid they ARE going to tell Peggy’s husband, Stacy,” Ben said.

“How COULD they?” Stacy demanded, outraged. The very idea was beyond her imagining.

“I’d like to know the answer to that one myself,” Ben said.

“So what do we do now, Pa?” Joe asked.

“What exactly did Mister Milburn say when you talked with HIM this mornin’?” Hoss asked. “You said earlier that he didn’t have good news for us.”

“We all need to sit down and talk about that,” Ben said grimly. “Sooner, rather than later.”

“How soon, Pa?” Hoss pressed.

“After I talk with Peggy.”

 

Brett van Slyke angrily, relentlessly paced the floor of his hotel suite, pausing more and more often, to guzzle the dark amber contents of the whiskey bottle in hand. The room, though luxurious and posh by the standards of Placerville, California, stood a poor contrast against the comfort to which he was well accustomed in San Francisco. His father had ordered him to come here, to this hellhole lying on the outer edge of nowhere, supposedly to check on the family holdings and investments in the area. Both he and his father knew full well that a wire from San Francisco, making appropriate inquiries, would have been sufficient.

The real reason he was here had to do with that slut who used to sing at the Barbary Palace Saloon, down near the docks. She was a real pretty thing, with those warm brown eyes and that thick mane of dark brown curls all around her face and neck. She was warm in so many other ways, too. The memory of holding her tight in his arms that last time, her round, soft, voluptuous body pressed close, and the way she moved was nothing less than pure, absolute rapture.

All he did, all he ever wanted to do that night was be nice to her. Why did she have to hurt him?

The loud insistent pounding on the door to his room rudely jolted him from the mists of reverie back to present time and place, leaving him disoriented. For a long moment, Brett stood, unmoving, staring dully at his surroundings.

“Mister van Slyke?” a deep masculine voice called from with out. “Mister van Slyke, you in there?”

Brett vigorously shook his head, as if to physically dislodge his stupefaction.

The man outside pounded on the door again, louder this time, more insistent.

“Come in, it’s open!” Brett ordered.

It was Lark Meredith, the troubleshooter hired by his father to keep an eye on things, and on him. Though he was only a few years Brett van Slyke’s senior, the deeply etched lines in his weary, careworn face, and his slightly stooped posture, lent him the appearance of a man much older. “Just got a wire from Jake,” Lark reported in a crisp, business like tone. “He’s been keeping a sharp eye on Mrs. Dayton and Mrs. Manfred since they arrived in Virginia City this morning.”

“And?!”

“After they got off the stage, the checked into the International Hotel,” Lark reported. “They had a late breakfast, did a little shopping, then hired a buggy from the livery stable and went out to the Ponderosa.”

Brett took another swig from the bottle in hand, then wiped his mouth across his sleeve. “What’s this Pon-de-RO-sa?” he demanded, enunciating each syllabic divide.

“It’s an enormous spread, located just the other side of Lake Tahoe, owned by a man named Ben Cartwright,” Lark replied. “Mrs. Dayton and your wife knew the Cartwrights very well when they lived outside of Virginia City.”

“Oh? How WELL did they know these Cartwrights?” Brett demanded, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Mrs. Dayton was engaged the Ben Cartwright’s oldest son briefly.”

“Isn’t THAT very interesting.”

“Indeed. According to Jake’s report, Mrs. Manfred and Mrs. Dayton rode out to the Ponderosa demanding that Mrs. van Slyke leave with them. The Cartwrights denied that she was even there. Jake, however, strongly believes otherwise.”

“Did Jake actually see her?”

“No.”

“Then how can Jake be so sure she’s there?”

“The plain and simple truth is, Mrs. van Slyke had no where else to go.”

“Then why didn’t Jake fetch her back?” Brett demanded peevishly.

“Because Jake’s orders were to follow Mrs. Dayton and Mrs. Manfred, and let ME know if they led him to your wife,” Lark replied.

“He should’ve fetched her back!”

“Jake did some other checking on the Cartwrights, too, Mister van Slyke,” Lark said tersely. “None of ‘em are what you’d call pushovers. They’ve stood up to men every bit as rich and powerful as your father . . . and WON. Furthermore, this Ben Cartwright has about fifty men working for him, all of ‘em proficient in handling a rifle.”

“So?”

“So storming the Cartwright abode is out of the question.”

“Why?” Brett demanded petulantly. “I have men.”

“Your FATHER has men. You’ve got a less than a dozen of ‘em here with you, and half o’ THEM are accountants who wouldn’t know the difference between the barrel and butt ends of a rifle.”

“OK, we buy the Cartwrights off.”

“I’m afraid NOT,” Lark shook his head. “It seems the Cartwrights number among that rare breed of men who value things like honesty, justice, and fair play much more than they value money.”

“I want her back, Meredith. I want my wife back with me RIGHT NOW.”

“We’re going to get her back, but we’re going to do it MY way. Your father’s got enough trouble to straighten out in San Francisco as it is. The last thing he needs right now is to have trouble start up HERE.”

“Trouble’s already started, Lark. Peggy’s gone. Slipped right through my fingers during that party the other night . . . . ” He turned and favored Lark with a nasty grin. “ . . . and she slipped right through YOURS, too. Papa’s not gonna be real thrilled to hear THAT, either.”

“I SAID we will do this MY way.”

“Ok, fine! You’ve got three days to do this YOUR way, Meredith. Three days! After that, I get Peggy back MY way . . . like I did Miss Rosie O’Malley.”

Lark blanched. He stood as if rooted to the spot staring over at his employer’s son in shocked horror, too stunned to speak.

“That’s all, Meredith, you may go,” Brett said in an insultingly dismissive tone.

“N-now you listen to me and you listen GOOD, you . . . you spoiled little punk . . . .” Lark growled as his initial shock gave way to rising anger.

“I TOLD you to get out!” Brett’s entire body began to tremble. His fingers stiffened then curled into a pair of tight, rock hard fists. His eyes stretched to their absolute limits of wide roundness, before abruptly narrowing into a pair of narrow slits. His face was beet red, and strangely contorted. “GET OUT!” His voice rose alarmingly in volume, bordering at the very edge of hysteria. “GET OUT, GET OUT, GET. OUT!”

Alarmed and shaken, Lark wordlessly moved toward the door backwards, never once taking his eyes away from Brett.

 

Ben stepped up to the closed door of the downstairs guestroom, and knocked softly.

“Come in,” Peggy responded.

Ben opened the door and stepped into the room. He found Peggy lying in the bed, propped up by a couple of large, fluffy pillows. Adam and Teresa were with her, each occupying chairs pulled up on either side of the bed. Ben immediately took note of Peggy’s reddened cheeks, her swollen eyelids and upper lip, and eyes, glistening with unusual brightness. “You heard?” he queried, inclining his head toward the window, and the outdoors beyond.

“Y-yes, Uncle Ben. Teresa and I heard everything,” Peggy replied in as stead a voice as she could muster.

“Pa, what did Mister Milburn say when you spoke with him this morning?” Adam asked.

Ben turned toward Peggy. She returned his gaze, her bright blue eyes meeting his dark ones without flinching. “Peggy, Mister Milburn tells me it’s possible for you to divorce your husband on grounds of cruelty.”

“What do I need to do?” Peggy asked.

“You’ll need to petition for divorce,” Ben replied. “You’ll also need to establish proof. I didn’t talk to Doctor Martin . . . he’s the one who came out and saw you the other day, but I’m reasonably certain he’ll agree to provide testimony. But, you’re going to need OTHER witnesses.”

“I . . . I was afraid of this . . . . ” Peggy’s eyelids blinked excessively, as she bowed her head.

Adam automatically reached over, and gave Peggy’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Pa,” he said, looking up at Ben, “Doctor Martin’s a very fine doctor with impeccable credentials. Why do we need other witnesses?”

“Because the Martins are also very good friends of ours, and have been for many years now,” Ben replied. “If Peggy’s husband decides to contest her petition for divorce, his lawyer will move to discredit, maybe even bar Doctor Martin’s testimony on the grounds that our friendship may have unduly influenced him.”

“Peggy, is there anyone else who would be willing to testify on your behalf?” Teresa prodded gently. “Anyone at all?”

“The servants in our home in San Francisco have seen and heard everything,” Peggy said bitterly. “It would have been impossible for them NOT to! But, unfortunately for ME, Brett’s father pays their salaries. If they say anything at all, it’ll be whatever HE tells them to say.”

“I think we all know for fact we can’t count on Lil Manfred to defend Peggy,” Adam added with a touch of rancor, “and from what I saw, she has poor Laura so cowed, we can’t count on her either.”

“Peggy, do you have any friends who would be willing to speak up for you?” Teresa asked.

Peggy shook her head dolefully. “I have no friends, not anymore. For the better part of the last year, Brett’s not allowed me to see anyone, except for Mother, Aunt Lil, and . . . Doctor Phillips!!!”

“You’ve been seeing him since you found out you were pregnant?” Teresa asked.

“Yes! I also went to him when I found out I was pregnant the SECOND time. He can verify that I miscarried because . . . because of Brett’s violence.”

“He’s in San Francisco?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Peggy replied. “Doctor Forsythe Phillips.”

“I’d better write this down,” Ben said. He quickly excused himself, then went to his desk to fetch pencil and paper. When he returned a moment later, Peggy repeated the doctor’s full name, and supplied the address. “I’ll ride into town first thing in the morning. I’ll speak with Paul Martin, and ask HIM to contact Doctor Phillips. I’ll also make arrangements with Lucas Milburn to come here and meet with you, Peggy, tomorrow if at all possible.”

“Uncle Ben?”

“Yes, Peggy?”

Peggy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her fingers closed tightly around Adam’s hand, resting lightly over her own. She opened her eyes, and forced herself to look Ben straight in the eye. Peggy swallowed, then spoke in as steady a voice as she could muster. “Uncle Ben, what about my baby?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, Peggy,” Ben said ruefully. “If Mister van Slyke has no interest in the child, custody will automatically go to you. On the other hand if he petitions for custody . . . . ”

Peggy gasped, as the blood drained right out of her face. She glanced from Ben, to Adam, to Teresa, then back once more to Ben through eyes round with horror. “Are . . . are you telling m-me . . . Brett c-could take my baby away from me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh Dear God, no!” Peggy moaned, her voice filled with heart wrenching despair.

“Ben, what judge in his right mind would award custody of a child to a . . . to a monster like Brett van Slyke?” Teresa demanded, outraged.

“We have three circuit judges presently,” Ben replied. “Lucas told me earlier that two of them are of the opinion that a child belongs with his or her father. Both feel that fathers are better able to provide financially for their children, and--- ”

He broke off, unwilling to continue.

Adam noted his father’s suddenly ruddy complexion. “Pa, what is it?”

“Those two judges also feel that the . . . morals of a woman petitioning for divorce are . . . are highly suspect,” Ben said reluctantly.

“What about the third judge, Uncle Ben?” Peggy asked in a small, half embarrassed voice.

“He has been known to award custody of the children to the mother if a compelling case can be made for the unfitness of the father to assume responsibility,” Ben replied.

“I can’t let Brett have this baby, I can’t,” Peggy said, her voice breaking.

“Ben, what are Peggy’s chances of getting the judge most likely to be sympathetic to her petitions for divorce and custody of her baby?” Teresa asked.

“Lucas can and will ask that Judge Thompson be appointed to hear the case,” Ben replied. “But there’s no guarantees.”

“Maybe . . . maybe I should just go back,” Peggy murmured, sick with hopeless despair.

“Go back where?” Teresa asked.

“Go back to Brett!”

“Peggy, you CAN’T,” Adam protested in a quiet yet very firm tone.

“Adam, I can’t let this child be turned over to the likes of Brett van Slyke with no one to defend or protect him or her!” Peggy sobbed. “It would be . . . condemning an innocent baby to death, or worse . . . a life time of torture and abuse.”

“Peggy, that’s NOT going to happen,” Adam said grimly, his face set with fierce determination. “My family and I have faced a lot of uphill battles against nearly impossible odds over the years, and we’ve always come out on top. We’re going to find a way to come out on top this time, too.”

Peggy impulsively threw her arms around Adam’s neck, and hugged him tight for a moment. “You . . . you almost make me believe you,” she murmured, her voice unsteady.

“You’d better believe him, Peggy,” Ben said, offering her a smile of encouragement. “After all, Adam here IS the smart one on the family . . . . ”

 

End of Part 1.

 

***

1\. The characters of Laura and Peggy Dayton are based on same appearing in the following Bonanza episodes: #144 “The Waiting Game,” written by Ed Adamson; #153 “The Cheating Game,” written by William L. Stuart; #166 “The Pressure Game,” written by Don Tait; and #167 “Triangle,” written by Frank Cleaver. The character of Aunt Lil Manfred appeared in “The Pressure Game,” written by Don Tait.

2\. The events recounted by Adam to Peggy occurred in Bonanza episode #128, titled “My Brother’s Keeper,” written by Seeleg Lester.


	2. Descent Into Hell

She stood in a small room, gowned in a long, flowing garment of white cloud and light. Three walls of the room were windows, clear glass with no shades, no curtains, no draperies to block the morning sunlight streaming in, bathing the entire room with bright white light. The fourth and only true wall was painted a brilliant light-white. In the far distance, somewhere beyond the walls surrounding her, she heard the sound of a child laughing with wild, joyous abandon. The joy, the love, the unbridled delight she heard in that laughter swelled until it filled the entire room where she stood waiting.

The child’s laughter brought forth a song from somewhere deep in her heart. She listened carefully to the words, to the simple, lyrical melody rising now from the depths of her heart, then gave her heartsong voice. She felt her tensed body relaxing and swaying in time to the song’ s gentle rhythms. The song rose, filling her entire being, gently urging her feet to move.

She gave herself over to the song building, rising from the depths of her heart. Her feet moved of their own volition, slowly at first, almost hesitantly. She circled around the room, her feet and legs moving with more confidence, faster, ever faster.

The child’s laughter rose, its simple descant harmonizing with the symphony of her heartsong. A second child, laughing with the same unrestrained joy, joined the first. A third child immediately followed. The lines of their musical laughter flowed together, intertwining, and merging with the growing, swelling melody of her heartsong.

The children’s laughter and her own music faded away to silence as a door appeared in the fourth wall, then opened. She stepped back away from the open portal, suddenly afraid.

“Come along, My Pretty Peggy.  
Come along this way.”

It was her mother, Laura, as she was many years ago, back when the two of them lived in Nevada. Smiling, very much as a child herself, Laura flounced up toward Peggy, seizing her daughter’s hand in her own, clutching it tightly to her side.

“To the church, Pretty Peggy.  
‘Tis your wedding day.”

Aunt Lil appeared on her right, grabbing her right hand in a powerful vice like grip, and holding fast.

Panic rose swiftly within, threatening to wholly inundate her. She tried to pull her hands from her mother’s and Aunt Lil’s, but their grip was fast, too strong.

“Come along, My Pretty Peggy.  
Come along this way.  
To the church, Pretty Peggy.  
‘Tis your wedding day.”

Mother and Aunt Lil led her toward the door chanting the rhyme her father, her real father, Frank Dayton, had made up just for her, many, many years ago. She struggled in earnest, desperate to free herself. No matter how hard, how fiercely she struggled, they continued steadily toward the open door.

She, wholly against her will, entered the room, propelled along by her mother and her great aunt. Inside all was an opaque, impenetrable blackness, broken here and there by the dull glow of gold fire from torches all around the room. There was a table at the far end of the room, covered with a white cloth. A long, narrow aisle led from the door to that table.

As she, her mother, and her aunt moved down the aisle, her gown changed from cloud and light to a heavy robe of gold brocade, encrusted with jewels. The room was crowded with people, all packed in so tightly, no one could move. A new sound filled the air. She thought it was the wind, at first, then maybe the sound of spring melt rushing down from the high mountains through dry gullies to the rivers, steams and lakes. Then she heard words. She couldn’t make them out at first, but she knew they were words, nonetheless. As she neared the table at the far end of the room, sounds coalesced into recognizable vowels and consonants. Words emerged from the seemingly random vowel and consonant sounds, forming strings of words:

“Come along, My Pretty Peggy.  
Come along this way.  
To the church, Pretty Peggy.  
‘Tis your wedding day.”

They were all chanting it, including her mother and Aunt Lil flanking her on either side. She renewed her valiant struggle to free herself, but they still held fast.

When she reached the table, she was stripped of her heavy golden bejeweled gown and placed naked on the table. Aunt Lil took the gown, draped it possessively over her arm. She hugged it close to her own body, all the while looking down at her, smiling. That smile froze the very marrow in her bones. Frightened, she tried to move, tried desperately to rise from the table and flee. But she couldn’t move. Then, the words of the chant changed.

“From the church, Pretty Peggy  
to your marriage bed.  
Bride and Lamb of Sacrifice  
Your blood will buy our bread .”

She heard a thin wail above the chorus, striking a harsh discord against the tune sung in unison by the people gathered. Another wail arose above the swelling sound of song and the first. The children, she suddenly realized. Two of the children, whose laughter had summoned forth her heartsong back there in the light, now screamed in the darkness, crying out in terrible agony. She felt the sting of tears in her own eyes, borne of fear, horror, and anger at the person inflicting such cruel pain on the children. Drawing strength from her anger, she tried again to move, to escape. Her valiant struggling was in vain.

The crowd gathered in the dark room surged forward , toward the table on which she was lying. A sea of faces crowded into her line of vision. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the faces, searching for the face of her mother. She found her mother where she always was, where she had been for most of her life now. Right next to Aunt Lil.

“Mother, please!” she begged, with tears streaming down her face. “Mother, please, help me.”

Laura smiled. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Peggy,” her mother said with the same complacent detached tone she had used the time she told her that her father had left again, on a long trip. A very long trip. She didn’t know when he would be coming home. She only knew he wouldn’t be coming home for a very, very, very long time.

“MOTHER, HELP ME! PLEASE, PLEASE HELP ME!”

“Close your eyes and count to one hundred, Peggy,” Laura said with that beatific smile. “When you reach one hundred, everything will be all right again. You’ll see, Peggy, you’ll see.”

The wailing of the two children rose in volume and pitch, wrenching her heart. “Mother, help me please! Help me, so I can help them, for the love of God, please!”

“One . . . . two . . . . three . . . . four . . . .” Laura chanted the numbers in a childish sing-song voice. “Count, Peggy, you’ll see! Five, six, seven . . . . .”

The wailing crescendoed into an ear splitting, high pitched shriek, followed by ominous silence. The silence was broken an agonized scream of raw, primal fury. She was surprised to find it was she, herself screaming.

A long, tall shadow fell over her, slicing her body in pieces with its sharp delineations of light and dark .

“ . . . . eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, come on, Peggy! Count!”

The shadow falling over her body belonged to a tall man, clothed in pitch darkness, so thick, no eye, no torch, no beam of light could penetrate its depths. A man’s hand stretched forth from the darkness. It was very well muscled, with skin that appeared to be bone white against his robe of blackness.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . . . ”

Blood covered the man’s fingers and palm. She heard a voice within that horrible darkness, taking up the words of the chant. Laura continued to count, her voice rising above the man’s, a discordant descant against his line of melody.

“Come along, My Pretty Peggy.  
Come along this way.”

“Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three . . . . ”

“To the church, Pretty Peggy . . . . ”

“Count, Peggy, please count! Twenty-four . . . ”

“ ‘Tis your wedding day.”

“Twenty-five . . . . twenty-six . . . . twenty-seven . . . . twenty . . . . ”

“From the church, Pretty Peggy . . . ”

“ . . . eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

“ . . . to your marriage bed.”

“Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four!”

“Bride and Lamb of Sacrifice  
Your blood will buy their bread .”

High over her head the darkness faded to reveal a man’s face, his once handsome features twisted into a demonic caricature of the way he used to look, before injury and illness extracted their own tolls. He chanted the last verse of her song over and over.

“From the church, Pretty Peggy  
to your marriage bed.  
Bride and Lamb of Sacrifice  
Your blood will buy their bread .”

Suddenly, she realized that the man clothed in darkness was Brett. He pulled a single long strand of black from the darkness surrounding him, with slow, precise, agonizing slowness. Unable to move, her cries, her screams for help falling on deaf ears, all she could do was lie there on that table and watch, numb with horror, as Brett wrapped each end of the long, black string around his hands.

“I’m your groom, Pretty Peggy  
To love, honor, and obey.  
With me you’ll stay, Pretty Peggy,  
Forever and a day.”

Chanting, he brought the black string stretched taut between his hands down over her throat. She could feel that black string pressing down unbearably heard against her throat. Its cold burned into her body and soul, sinking deeper and deeper down into the very core of her being. She tried hard to scream, only to whimper.

 

“Peggy? Peggy, wake up!”

Peggy’s eyes snapped wide open. Her hands immediately flew to her throat as she struggled to sit up. Stacy, with heart in mouth, slipped an arm around Peggy’s shoulders and helped ease her to a sitting position. Peggy drew in a deep, ragged breath, then wearily collapsed back down against the mound of cushions behind her head and back.

“P-Peggy?”

She slowly opened her eyes and found herself staring up into Stacy’s anxious face.

“Are you all right?” Stacy asked. She was dressed in a pair of worn slacks and an old white shirt of Joe’s, that had long ago seen better days. “I heard you cry out.”

“I’ll be all right, Stacy, I . . . I just need a minute to collect myself.” Peggy murmured, closing her eyes once again. “What a horrible, horrible dream.” She shuddered.

“Peggy, I used to have nightmares all the time when I first came here,” Stacy said sympathetically. “Actually, it was the same nightmare over and over. I’d wake up scared out of my wits. It always helped when I could tell Pa, sometimes Hoss and Joe.”

Peggy opened her mouth with every intention of asking Stacy to please, run upstairs and fetch Adam. The insanity passed, as quickly as it had come upon her. “I’ll be all right, Stacy, I promise.” She flashed Stacy a wan smile, hoping to reassure. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Stacy shook her head. “I was already up. It’s my turn to muck out the stalls.”

Peggy rolled her eyes and groaned melodramatically. “Oh yes! It all comes back to me! The joys of life on a ranch! I was responsible for mucking out Traveler’s stall every morning, not-too-bright and early.”

“Who’s Traveler?”

“My pony. Adam gave him to me shortly after my pa died. I was all of eight years old at the time.” Peggy’s eyes misted over, and her smile faded. “Mother and I gave him back to Adam when we moved to San Francisco. I’ll bet I cried for a good solid month.”

“I would, too, if I had to go somewhere I couldn’t take Blaze Face. He’s MY horse,” Stacy said with genuine, heartfelt sympathy.

“Adam said you’re an excellent rider,” Peggy murmured with a touch awe. “I think his exact words were, ‘Stacy and Blaze Face together are swift, fluid poetry in motion.’ ”

Stacy felt the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. “That . . . sounds like Adam!”

“Did I just hear my name mentioned?”

Stacy and Peggy turned their faces to the open door, and saw Adam, clad in nightshirt and hastily donned robe. He leaned against the doorway with arms folded loosely across his chest.

“Good morning, Adam,” Peggy greeted him with a smile and extended her hand.

“Good morning, Peggy.” Adam stepped into the room, and reaching the side of her bed, gently took her extended hand in his. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I was awakened by a bad dream. Stacy heard me cry out, so she came to check up on me. I’m all right now.”

“You sure?”

Peggy smiled and nodded.

“Peggy, seeing as how you’re in good hands, I’d better get out to the barn,” Stacy said with a smile.

“Ok, Stacy. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t forget your rain slicker, Little Sister,” Adam said. “It’s pouring down out there.”

Stacy frowned. “A bit late in coming,” she mused aloud. “As red as the sky was day before yesterday at sunrise, I half way expected a big storm by YESTERDAY morning, if not before. Well . . . see you two at breakfast!”

Adam wisely refrained from telling her that a big storm did start the same morning she saw that red sky at sunrise. One that blew in wrapped in a cloud of blue silk.

“So, what’s the REAL reason you’re up, Adam?” Peggy asked, after Stacy had left.

“The rain against the roof woke me up,” Adam said evasively. “I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I thought I’d come down here and read.”

“Adam Cartwright, you lie through your teeth!”

Adam stared down at her, completely dumbfounded.

“You’re down here to check up on Stacy,” Peggy continued. “You want to make sure someone’s here to protect her, in case my . . . in case Brett shows up.”

“I WAS speaking true when I said the rain woke me up,” Adam said slowly, with a touch of reluctance . “But, yes . . . I want to be here, in case Stacy runs into any trouble.”

“This is all a mistake,” Peggy murmured softly, shaking her head in despair. “A horrible, horrible mistake . . . . ”

“Peggy, don’t say that!”

“Why NOT??! It’s TRUE! I’ve put all of you in terrible danger by coming here. I know better than anyone what Brett’s capable of. The longer I stay— ”

“Peggy, please, listen to me— ”

“Listen to you say WHAT, Adam?” she turned on him angrily. “Are you going to tell me one more time that I’m safe here . . . when the truth is I’m NOT safe here? And as long as I’M here, none of YOU are safe, either! You know THAT, at least as well as I do, or you wouldn’t be making a point of being down here in case Stacy runs into trouble mucking out the barn early in the morning before the rest of the family’s up.”

“All right, Peggy, your safety’s not a hundred percent guaranteed,” Adam said, his own anger and frustration rising. “But, you’re still safer here than you would be anywhere else.”

“Maybe I was, but I’m not now!”

“Why NOT now?”

“Because Mother and Aunt Lil know I’m here!”

“Yes, they have their suspicions, as I said yesterday, but they don’t know for sure. They never saw you, and Pa never admitted to them that you’re here.”

“All the same, they KNOW! And they’re going to tell Brett I’m here, I know they are! If they haven’t already.”

Adam remembered the brief confrontation with Aunt Lil and Laura the day before, and knew without doubt Peggy spoke true.

“See?” Peggy’s tone held an accusatory note. “You can’t deny it, can you?”

“You’re absolutely right. I can’t deny it. I’m not even going to TRY,” Adam said. “I wish I could understand WHY.”

“Why Mother and Aunt Lil would tell Brett where I am?”

Adam nodded. “Surely THEY know what kind of man this Brett van Slyke is . . . and the harm he’s done to you.”

“Of COURSE they know,” Peggy said bitterly.

“Then why ARE they so anxious to turn you over to Brett?”

“Because my marriage to Brett van Slyke is their meal ticket.”

“What?” Her words shook Adam to the very core of his being.

“It’s true, Adam. Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered how and why I ever got mixed up with a . . . with a MONSTER like Brett van Slyke.”

“I’d be less than honest if I said no.”

“Yet you haven’t asked me.”

“I figured you’ll tell me, when you’re ready.”

“Aunt Lil arranged the whole thing,” Peggy explained. “I guess you know Mother and Will never married.”

Adam nodded. “Yes, I know. Will wrote Pa, about a year and a half after the three of you had moved to San Francisco, telling him that he, Will that is, and your Mother decided to call off their engagement.”

“Did Will ever tell Uncle Ben why?”

“No. The way Will worded things, we were left with the impression they mutually agreed to end their relationship.”

Peggy sighed and mournfully shook her head. “I don’t know what happened between Will and Mother, either. The only thing SHE ever said about their parting of ways was that things between her and Will didn’t work out. I asked her why, of course . . . . ”

“What did your mother say?”

“It was one of those grown-up things that I wouldn’t understand.”

“Typical,” Adam said with a touch of rancor.

“When Will came to tell me good-bye, he hugged me and told me he felt worse about leaving me than he did about leaving my mother. I’ll never forget the look on his face, like someone forever haunted something they can see, but can’t do anything about. I didn’t understand it, then, Adam, but I think I do now.”

“You said Aunt Lil arranged your marriage to this Brett van Slyke . . . that it was some kind of meal ticket for her and your mother. Why? I was under the impression Lil was quite wealthy when she visited us.”

“She spent that whole wad in less than a year, Adam,” Peggy replied. “No matter how much she’s ever had, her tastes have always been ‘way more expensive. After Will left, there SHE was poor and in debt to boot, with a grown niece who . . . who couldn’t stand on her own two feet, even if someone propped her up all the way around on all sides with boards and braces, and a little girl to provide for.

“Aunt Lil managed one of the bars down near the water front, where she seemed to be making good money. Mother and I moved in with her after Will left. She had a tiny apartment overtop the saloon. The three of us were constantly tripping over each other. Looking back, I know Aunt Lil wasn’t happy with the whole arrangement. She was always yelling at us . . . me for being a nuisance, always underfoot and asking so many questions . . . and poor Mother for . . . for being so useless.

“I hardened myself to Aunt Lil’s yelling pretty early on, but Mother . . . . ” Peggy sighed. “I always ended up trying to comfort Mother.”

“Who was there to comfort YOU?”

A bare hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Peggy’s mouth. “I got to a point where I could just block out a lot of what Aunt Lil said, but the times when I couldn’t . . . I’d go someplace by myself, like down to the wharf, find a place to sit down and just remember all the wonderful times you and I had before Mother and I left. I’d remember a lot of the things you told me, too, Adam, like the time I fell off Traveler.”

“I remember. I told you that you were a brave little girl for getting back up in the saddle.”

Peggy nodded.

“I . . . wish there was some way I could have been there with you through all that,” Adam said ruefully.

“In a very real way, you WERE, Adam, because every time I’d think and remember, it took a lot of the sting out of what Aunt Lil said.”

Adam nodded, unable to speak past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

“Two years ago, Aunt Lil told Mother and me that she was tired,” Peggy resumed her story. “She wanted to get out of the saloon business and be a lady of leisure. Aunt Lil told Mother and me about this rich man she knew, who wanted a wife for his son. He wanted his son to marry and settle down, but couldn’t find the right girl.”

“Brett’s father?”

Peggy nodded. “Horace van Slyke. Aunt Lil told me that if I married Brett, Mister van Slyke would provide very generously for Mother and her. I didn’t want to do it, Adam. Like most people, I wanted to marry for LOVE, not money!” She grimaced. “Aunt Lil about hit the ceiling when I told her I wouldn’t do it.”

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, Peggy,” Adam said gently, “but, why did you change your mind?”

“I could have held out against Aunt Lil’s yelling and screaming OR against Mother’s weeping and wailing. But NOT against both.”

Adam recalled with a touch of rancor how determined and manipulative both Lil and Laura could be when they had set their minds on something. When Lil came to visit Laura and Peggy, right after Frank Dayton’s sudden death, she had concocted this grand and glorious scheme to make him jealous by bringing in a third party. That third party was none other than his own first cousin, Will Cartwright. Lil’s plan unfolded smoothly, without the slightest hitch. Adam had proposed marriage to Laura, as he was supposed to do. Laura had gone so far as to accept. The only twist in her scheme that Lil hadn’t bargained for was Laura falling in love with Will Cartwright, the bait in her little trap. #

“Adam, maybe I should just go back,” Peggy said sadly.

“Back WHERE?”

“To Brett!”

“Peggy, that’s crazy!” Adam protested, making no effort to conceal his annoyance. “You know what he’ll do.”

“No! Not right away! He’ll very nice to me . . . at least for a little while. He’ll be every bit the doting husband . . . attentive, romantic, b-bringing me candy, flowers, little gifts. If that can l-last until we can l-leave Placerville? Well, then, maybe . . . once we get to San Francisco, I can appeal to m-my father-in-law— ”

“Has your father-in-law EVER tried to help you?”

“N-no! No, he hasn’t . . . but, you can’t blame him, Adam. He doesn’t even know how things are. I never saw fit to tell him, until . . . until I miscarried for the second time.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Peggy said, her voice breaking, “but it’s not HIS fault, exactly. I made the mistake of trying to tell him with Aunt Lil there. SHE convinced him that I was unbalanced . . . hysterical, because I had just lost m-my second baby.”

“Peggy, I think deep down, Horace van Slyke KNOWS what kind of man Brett is,” Adam said earnestly. “That’s why he offered to provide so generously for your mother and for Lil, because he KNEW no woman from their social circles would have Brett. Whether he just plain doesn’t want to face up to the truth or if he has accepted the truth, and merely wants to maintain a facade of respectability, I don’t know. Either way, I doubt very much you can count on him for help.”

“Adam, what am I going to do?”

The hopeless despair he heard in her voice and saw mirrored in her eyes, round and staring, wrenched Adam’s heart. “First off,” he began in a steady, firm tone of voice that brooked no further argument or discussion on the matter, “you’re going to stay put right here, where my family and I can best protect you. If it comes down to a fight, Pa not only has fifty men working for him, but he’s also surrounded by neighbors on all sides who will pitch in and help, if need be. Second, you’re going to keep eating and make sure you get plenty of rest, like Doctor Martin said.

“Third, and last on the list,” Adam continued, “you’re going to hear what Mister Milburn has to say. Pa’s riding into town later, and among other things, he’s going to make arrangements for his lawyer to come out here and see you. He’s also going to see Doctor Martin about giving testimony to back up cruelty as grounds of divorce. Pa’s also going to ask Doctor Martin to wire Doctor Phillips.”

Peggy nodded mutely, drawing a measure of strength and determination from Adam’s words, in spite of herself.

“Pa also asked Sheriff Coffee to wire the police department in San Francisco about the van Slyke family. Any information THEY can pass on to Roy should also help establish proof of cruelty.”

“Adam, when Uncle Ben goes into town today? He should also ask Sheriff Coffee to wire the sheriff in Placerville,” Peggy said. Her chin trembled slightly, but her mouth was set in a grim, determined line. “The night before I left, Brett and I had a row to end all rows. I know the sheriff was called . . . . ”

A smile tugged at the corner of Adam’s mouth. “Great minds think alike, Peggy. Pa said Roy was also going to send a wire to Placerville.”

“In the meantime, maybe you’d better go out and check on Stacy,” Peggy suggested, punctuating her words with a big yawn.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Adam agreed. “Will you be alright?”

Peggy nodded. “I will NOW, Adam,” she promised.

 

Brett van Slyke awoke in the early hours of the morning, while it was yet dark, irritable and restless after a night of sporadic bouts of fitful sleeping. He rolled over, curling his large, muscular body into a tight ball, and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for sleep to reclaim him once more. How long he lay thus, he had no idea. Brett stretched, and rolled over onto his other side, then onto his back, his other side, and stomach. He finally threw the sheet, his only covering, aside with an angry thrust of his arm, and sat up.

Brett sat on the side of his bed, unmoving, his eyes glued to the window at his right. Outside darkness gave way to the silver-gray twilight of dawn, then to the first orange-gold rays of sunrise.

“Meredith!” Brett whispered.

No answer.

Suddenly, Brett leapt to his feet with the powerful ease and strength of a cougar leaping from one rock to the next. He seized the black silk robe lying across the foot of his bed and quickly slipped it over his otherwise nude body. Three long, effortless giant steps brought him to the closed door of his hotel suite. He opened the door and bolted out into the corridor.

“MEREDITH! MEREDITH!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Still no answer.

“MEREDITH!”

At the far end of the corridor, he spotted one of the hotel maids, stepping up to the top landing, her arms laden with clean bed linens.

“YOU!” Brett shouted, pointing.

Even from this great distance, he saw her freeze. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes went round with horror.

“COME HERE!”

The maid pivoted a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn, and fled back down the stairs, strewing the clean linens all over the floor in her wake.

“STOP! I SAID STOP! COME BACK HERE!” Brett shouted as he gave chase with the hem of his unbelted robe flapping behind him.

Lark Meredith, clad in pajama bottoms and unbelted robe met him at the second floor landing. “C’mon, Mister van Slyke, it’s early yet. Let’s getcha back t’ bed.” He took Brett’s elbow and started to steer him back toward the stairs.

“NO!” Brett shouted, as he pulled his arm free from Lark’s grip. “I’m not sleepy.”

“All right. Let’s go back to your room. You need to bathe, wash, and get dressed.”

“Then what?”

“Breakfast.”

“I want my pretty Peggy.”

“She’s not here.”

“Where IS she?”

“With friends. She’ll be back soon.”

Brett meekly allowed Lark Meredith to take his elbow once again, and steer him back over toward the stairs. “I’m thirsty,” he said petulantly.

“After I get you back to your room, I’m going to ask the concierge for some hot water, so you can have a bath and wash up,” Lark promised. “I’ll also get you something to drink.”

After seeing his charge back to his hotel suite, Lark immediately roused Hoyt Pyle, Brett van Slyke’s valet. Hoyt was a large, well muscled man standing nearly six and a half feet tall, and weighing in at a bit over three hundred pounds. Every bit of that mass was iron hard muscle. Lark delegated to Hoyt the task of procuring the hot water, and seeing that Mister van Slyke bathed, washed, and dressed himself properly.

Satisfied that Brett, for the time being, was safely in responsible hands, Lark Meredith returned to his own room. He quickly splashed a couple handfuls of cold water on his face, and dressed. As he stood before his dresser mirror, lathering his soap in preparation for a shave, someone knocked on his door. “Yes?” he queried with a reluctant sigh.

“Mister Meredith, the concierge asked me to fetch you.” It was one of the bellboys. “Mister Jamison wants to see you at your earliest convenience.”

“I’ll be right there,” Lark said, laying side his cup of shaving soap and his brush.

“Yes, Sir,” the bell hop without mumbled.

Lark ran a comb through his tangled locks and put on a fresh clean shirt. A few moments later, he stood in the manager’s well-appointed office, face to face with Nathan Jamison, the hotel manager. Nathan Jamison was a short, thin wiry man, whose forceful personality, near obsessive perfectionism, and short, fiery temper more than compensated for any lack of physical size. He stood in the center of his office, impeccably attired in a conservative dark blue three-piece suit with clean white starched shirt and tie. Lark also noted, to his dismay that the man’s thinning hair was neatly combed, and that he HAD shaved this morning.

“Mister Jamison, I apologize for the disturbance this morning,” Lark said, flinching away from the intensity of the smaller man’s intense glare. “You have my solemn word it won’t happen again.”

“This makes the third time in the last two weeks you’ve given me your solemn word it won’t happen again, Mister Meredith,” Nathan said with a touch of sarcasm. “I’ve already had half a dozen guests check out earlier than they had scheduled. Three others are in their rooms packing even as we speak. These gentlemen ARE regular clients, or they have been up until now.”

“Surely the patronage of the van Slyke family . . . . ”

“This is the first time ANY member of the van Slyke family has so much as set foot in Placerville for the better part of the last three or four years now,” Nathan said in a tine that dripped icicles. “In the days Horace van Slyke and his father before came here for the hunting, they stayed at that lodge of theirs outside of town. The van Slykes have NEVER been clients of THIS establishment at all until, unfortunately, now.”

“The van Slyke family is fully prepared to make whatever amends . . . . ”

“The only amends the van Slyke family can make at this point is to check out as soon as possible.”

Lark’s jaw dropped.

“My staff and I have had more than enough, Mister Meredith,” Nathan said firmly.

“If we could just stay until we locate MRS. van Slyke,” Lark begged.

“She’s probably crossed the wide Mississippi by this time and is well on her way to points east,” Nathan said in a wry tone. “She is if she’s smart, especially after that terrible fight she and her husband had the night before her disappearance.”

“We’ve already paid you for the damages, TWICE what it’ll cost to make repairs and buy new furniture. What more do you want?”

“I want the lot of you to leave as soon as possible,” Nathan snapped, “and once you’ve gone, I don’t ever want to see your shadows darken the threshold of this establishment again, ever.”

Lark exhaled a short, curt sigh of exasperation.

“All right!” Nathan exhaled an explosive, curt, exasperated sigh. “I am NOT an unreasonable man, Mister Meredith. Therefore, in light of Mrs. van Slyke’s unfortunate disappearance, I will allow Mister van Slyke’s party to remain for another three days, but that is all . . . AND it goes much against my better judgment.”

The fierce, determined look on Nathan Jamison’s face told Lark loud and clear there would be no allowances made beyond the three-day extension reluctantly granted. He simply nodded curtly, then turned heel and left the manager’s office without further word. In passing the registration counter in the lobby, Lark paused just long enough to glance up at the clock hanging up on the wall behind. The time was twenty-three minutes past the hour of seven. He made himself a mental note to be at the telegraph office when it opened at nine so that he might wire the elder Mister van Slyke for instructions, then set off in the direction of the small café, across the street, two doors down from the saloon.

After wolfing down a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and black coffee, Lark Meredith immediately went to the Western Union office and dispatched a telegram to his employer in San Francisco that was brief and to the point:

“Mister van Slyke [stop]

Son’s condition much worse [stop] Must leave hotel three days [stop] Mrs. van Slyke still missing [stop] Will see care taker at lodge about opening [stop] Please advise [stop]

Your servant [stop]  
Lark Meredith [stop; end of message]”

Lark sternly instructed the Western Union clerk to take the reply down to the hotel and leave it with the desk clerk, adding an extra fifty-cents over and above the cost of sending the wire for the man’s trouble. He, then, walked the block and a half from the telegraph office to the livery stable, where he rented a horse and set out for the van Slykes’ hunting lodge, located ten miles northeast of town. The care taker, a name by the name of Cameron Dressler and his wife, Faith, lived in care taker’s cottage, located behind the big house.

 

Ben Cartwright had also risen early that morning. After a light breakfast of toast and coffee, over and above the loud protests of Hop Sing, half in Chinese the other half in English, he set off toward the barn.

“ ‘Morning, Pa!”

Ben smiled. “Good morning, Stacy. You about finished?”

“JUST finished. Where are YOU going so early?”

“I have some things I need to take care of in town,” Ben replied. “I wanted to get an early start.”

“You want help saddling Buck?”

“Sure. The sooner I get going, the sooner I can finish up.”

Stacy ran ahead and moved Ben’s horse from his stall.

“What are YOUR plans for this morning?” Ben asked, as he slipped on Buck’s bridle.

Stacy placed a clean saddle blanket over Big Buck’s back. “The road’s probably going to be too wet for Sun Dancer to run laps today, after all that rain earlier. so I thought I’d take him out for a brisk ride . . . AFTER breakfast.”

“Yes, AFTER breakfast!” Ben agreed wryly. “Hop Sing’s upset enough with ME taking off early.”

Stacy smiled. “I know. I heard.”

Ben placed the saddle on over the blanket, then motioned for Stacy to hold the reins, while he fastened the saddle around his horse’s girth. “Do me a favor?”

“Sure, Pa. What is it?”

“When you take Sun Dancer out, ask Joe to go with you.”

“You worried about Peggy’s husband, too?”

“Too?”

“Adam’s been getting around the time I go out to muck out the stalls since the morning I found Peggy out in the barn.”

“Yes,” Ben admitted. “I AM a little concerned about Peggy’s husband showing up. Stacy, I hate asking this of you . . . . ”

Stacy, having a very good idea what her father was about to say next, felt her heart plummeting fast and furious toward her feet.

“ . . . until I know more, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go out riding by yourself.”

“Ok, Pa.”

Though Stacy took pains to keep her voice neutral, Ben could see the dismay in her eyes quite clearly. “I’m hoping Sheriff Coffee might have some information for me today,” he said by way of offering encouragement.

“Well, I guess one day won’t kill me,” she sighed.

“Look at it THIS way, Stacy. Today, you and Joe have an opportunity to spend some good quality time together.” Though she sarcastically rolled her eyes, Ben saw the bare hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, too. “I should be back around dinner time,” he said as he climbed up onto Buck’s back.

“Ok, Pa. See you later.”

Ben set off. Overhead, the thick covering of opaque, slate gray clouds had begun breaking up. Rays of sunlight shone through the holes opening in cloud covering, revealing patches of patches of bright blue sky above. Buck made reasonably good time, given the wet, muddy road conditions. Ben arrived at the sheriff’s office shortly before nine o’clock.

“Come on in, Ben,” the sheriff invited. “Coffee’s over there on the stove if y’ want some.”

“Have you heard anything?” Ben asked, as he poured himself a mug of the sheriff’s strong, black coffee.

“Yep,” Roy replied with an emphatic nod. “I got two wires ‘ a big envelope marked special delivery from San Francisco. Accordin’ to the wire from the San Francisco Police Department, this Brett van Slyke you’re askin’ about ‘s got NO police record.” He handed the Western Union note over to Ben. “The OTHER wire’s from the Chief o’ Police himself.”

Ben took the wired message, sent by the Chief of Police in San Francisco, from Roy Coffee, and read it over silently:

 

“Dear Sheriff Coffee [stop]

Be advised [stop]

Members of the van Slyke family are decent, upright, honorable, wholly moral pillars of San Francisco community and society here and have been for many years [stop]. My father, beginning as a small boy, worked first for Julian van Slyke, then for his son Horace. [stop] We can vouch for both being fair, honest, decent, and generous employers.

Horace van Slyke paid my college tuition, without asking for repayment [stop] During my mother’s last illness, Horace van Slyke paid for doctor and medicines [stop] My family will remember van Slykes’ kindness and generosity though Mother did not recover [stop]

Very sorry to hear about Mrs. van Slyke’s disappearance [stop] Hope she is found, alive and well [stop] Let Brett van Slyke know he is in our prayers [stop]

Hope this clears up any trouble or misunderstanding regarding Brett van Slyke [stop] Please wire if he requires my presence in Virginia City [stop]

Your servant [stop]”

 

Ben looked over at Roy after he had finished reading the lengthy communiqué . “It must have cost the police chief a small fortune to send this wire,” he remarked archly.

“George at the telegraph office here in Virginia City figures it had to have cost somewhere in the neighborhood of ten dollars to send.”

Ben whistled. “You could buy stage fare to San Francisco and back for THAT.”

“Somethin’ tells me that if the police chief couldn’t afford it, this Mister Horace van Slyke . . . . . could.”

“I find one thing very, very interesting about the contents of this wire,” Ben said slowly. “When our good friend the police chief extols the virtues of the van Slyke family, he mentions Julian and Horace, but NOT Brett. In fact this wire doesn’t even mention Brett except in passing, at the end of the letter.”

“Take a gander at what’s in the envelope,” Roy said curtly.

Ben opened it. Inside, he found a half dozen articles that had been clipped from a newspaper. At the top of each article, a date was noted, presumably the date it had appeared in the paper. The earliest date was two and a half months ago, and the most recent was dated a scant three weeks ago. A note, short, terse, and to the point accompanied the articles:

 

“Ben—

According to reliable sources, an old friend of yours may be in serious danger. You will find her in Placerville or at the van Slyke hunting lodge, ten miles outside of town. See enclosed.

This is one I owe you for asking your friend to set me up here as a reporter.

Sincerely,  
Horace Banning #,  
Reporter for the San Francisco Tribune.”

 

Ben glanced over the enclosed articles. The one marked with the earliest date stated that the body of a barmaid named Rosemary O’Malley had apparently turned up in San Francisco, by the wharfs floating face down in the water. She had been missing for two weeks prior to the date, noted on top of the article. Her body was covered with numerous cuts, bruises, and scar tissue from grievous wounds healed over, all neatly hidden under her clothing.

The post mortem examination revealed massive amounts of blood surrounding her heart, and in her lungs, stomach, and intestines, all evidence of massive internal injury. The most interesting finding was the absence of salt water in her lungs, evidence that the woman was dead before her body was thrown into the water. Most of her ribs and her pelvis were fractured, and the lower bones in both legs were shattered while the woman was still alive.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment, sickened by the image of a young woman thus disabled, unable even to flee. All she could do was lie there helpless while her assailant tortured her to death.

He took a deep, ragged breath and forced himself to continue reading. Brett van Slyke was named as a frequent customer in the saloon where Rosemary O’Malley had worked. According to witness accounts, Brett had been keeping close company with her for nearly a year prior to her disappearance. She was also last seen leaving the saloon in his company.

Ben, his senses reeling from the horrific facts given in the first article, turned his attention to the second, dated one week later. It recapped much of the information given in the first. The additions included an eyewitness account of Brett van Slyke going on a violent rampage two months before Miss O’Malley’s disappearance. According to the witness, name not given, Brett had seen her in the company of another man. He and Miss O’Malley’s companion argued. The other man swung at Brett, but missed. Brett retaliated by hitting the other man repeatedly with a solid wood cane, carved from dark ebony. Other men, patrons, bartender, and bouncers all rushed in immediately to separate Brett and the other man, but the damage had been done. The other man died of his injuries a week and a half later, without regaining consciousness.

“I don’t believe this!” Ben murmured, shaking his head. “I just plain and simply don’t believe this!”

“What is it, Ben?” Roy asked.

“Brett van Slyke beats a man to death in a saloon . . . in front of witnesses, and no charges are even filed?!” Ben looked over at Roy, dumbfounded.

“Money talks, Ben. You know that as well as I do,” Roy said grimly, “and it seems the van Slykes have enough to do a whole lotta talkin’!”

“Not to mention a police chief who’s grateful!” Ben added curtly.

Ben returned his attention to the remainder of the article. One eyewitness, another barmaid who adamantly insisted on her name not being given, said that Rosemary spoke to her of being deathly afraid of Brett van Slyke and what he could do. Other accounts told of Brett either threatening or beating up other customers, he thought were trying to move in on Miss O’Malley.

The next two articles, the first dated two weeks after the second and the other one week after that, were repeats of the information given in the first article, omitting any and all mention of Brett van Slyke.

The fifth article, dated two weeks after the fourth stated that a hearing had been held regarding the nature of Rosemary O’Malley’s demise. The presiding judge ruled her death a “probable suicide,” based on a new piece of evidence, a note allegedly written by Miss O’Malley, that had suddenly come to light. In her note, she had confessed her ardent passion for Brett van Slyke. Unable to face living without him, she had opted to drown herself. The note was dated the night before her disappearance, and signed. Allegations from several anonymous witnesses that Miss O’Malley was illiterate immediately followed.

Horace van Slyke was quoted, expressing “deep, profound regret” over his son’s “unfortunate indiscretion,” and sorrow “over the tragic turn of events that ended with that pitiable woman taking her own life.” He had also said that his son was “exceedingly sorrowful for having strayed from his vows of marriage,” and felt “a great, abiding remorse having wounded his loving wife so cruelly and so deeply,” and for “the tragedy of that young woman’s unfortunate suicide.” The article ended up by saying that Mister and Mrs. Brett van Slyke had gone into seclusion to “effect a reconcilement to their marriage.”

As horrific as all the information gleaned from the first five articles had been, it was the final line in the last article, added as a mere afterthought, that really left Ben shaken to the very core of his being. Rosemary O’Malley, like Peggy, was pregnant at the time of her death. “I . . . w-wanted to know what I’m up against,” he murmured softly, “now . . . now I know.”

Roy quietly placed a firm hand on Ben’s shoulder, offering a measure of reassurance and support. “I know how ya feel, Ben. I must’ve had the exact same look on MY face after I got through readin’ them newspaper articles.”

“Roy, have you heard anything from the sheriff in Placerville?”

“Not yet.”

“You mind if I take these with me?” Ben asked, holding up the envelopes containing the letter from the police chief in San Francisco and the newspaper articles from anonymous. “I’d like Adam, Teresa, Hoss, and Joe to read them over. After that, I’ll turn them over to Lucas for safe keeping.”

“Sure,” Roy agreed. “They’re addressed to YOU. That makes ‘em yours as far as I’M concerned.”

Ben nodded.

“How about Stacy, Ben?”

“What ABOUT Stacy?”

“Y’ gotta tell her something.”

“Don’t worry, Roy, I’m going to tell her what’s going on,” Ben said soberly. “With the very real possibility of Brett van Slyke eventually coming out to the Ponderosa looking for Peggy, I HAVE to. But, I’m perfectly able to impress upon her how dangerous and violent that man is . . . without her reading all these lurid details.”

“Ben?”

“Yes, Roy?”

“I want ya t’ know I’ll give ya what help I can,” Roy said. “Problem is, there ain’t much I c’n do, seein’ as t’ how OFFICIALLY, this Brett van Slyke ain’t even got a criminal record.”

“I understand, Roy.”

 

“Mister Meredith, it’s been a little while!” Cameron Dressler greeted Lark Meredith with a warm smile. He stood aside and gestured for Lark to enter, with a grand sweep of his arm. “Please come in.”

Cameron Dressler and his wife, Faith, had been the caretakers of the van Slykes’ Placerville lodge for nearly a decade. Cameron’s duties included the general upkeep of the grounds, and seeing to all of the needed repair and maintenance work. Being a skilled carpenter and general all round handyman, he handled virtually all of the work himself.

Faith Dressler was in charge of housekeeping. For the past three years, she had kept the van Slykes’ hunting lodge ready to receive guests at a moment’s notice. At the beginning of the year, however, she had been dropped from the payroll. Faith received a glowing letter from Horace van Slyke himself, thanking her for her loyalty, dedication, and hard work in the first paragraph, smoothly traversing into the second which informed her that her housekeeping services would no longer be required due to “the lengthy illness plaguing me day and night without let up, with no foreseeable end in sight.” A fifty dollar bonus was included with the letter.

Lark stepped across the threshold, into a large, well lit great room.

“Mister Meredith, what a pleasant surprise! Please, come in and sit down,” Faith invited as she rose from her place at the small dining room table, located on the opposite side of the room, next to the kitchen door. “Cameron and I were just finishing our breakfast, but I can fix you something, if you’d like.”

Lark politely removed his hat and shook his head. “I had breakfast in town,” he replied, “but, I would like a cup of coffee, if you have any.”

“I have plenty,” Faith said. “Sit!” With that, she turned heel and flounced off into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with the coffee pot in one hand and a large mug in the other. “Your coffee, Sir,” she said, placing the mug, filled nearly to the brim down on the table before him. “Cream and sugar?”

“No thank you, Mrs. Dressler. I take it black these days.”

“I have some cleaning up to do upstairs,” Faith said as she deftly removed her breakfast dishes from the table. “So I’m going to have at it, and let you gentlemen discuss your business.”

Lark rose to his feet politely. “Good seeing you again, Ma’am.” He took a large gulp from his mug, then turned his attention to the caretaker, seated across from him at the head of the table. “How long would it take to get this lodge in shape for human habitation?”

“This house hasn’t been cleaned at all since Faith . . . Mrs. Dressler . . . was let go,” Cameron said slowly. “Is Mister Horace planning a trip out here, sometime soon?”

“No, the elder Mister van Slyke is quite ill, I’m afraid.”

Cameron’s face fell. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“ . . . and right now, he has his hands full trying to set to rights some unsavory business the younger Mister van Slyke had the misfortune of being caught up in.”

“How is Mister Brett these days? Is HE any better?”

“Nope. He’s worse, and growing more so by the day.”

Cameron shook his head dolefully. “Shame, that. Between you and me? Seems like it might’ve been lots better all the way around if Mister Brett . . . well, if he HADN’T regained consciousness after that last accident.”

“I . . . can’t say I disagree with you.”

“Is . . . is Mister Brett coming here?”

“He has to,” Lark said grimly. “He’s, unfortunately, created quite a stir at the hotel in town. The manager’s ordered us to vacate in three days. I . . . I haven’t heard from Mister van Slyke as to whether or not it’s alright for Mister Brett to return home to San Francisco, nor do I expect to, not in the next three days. Is there anyway you and Mrs. Dressler can have this place ready by then?”

“Good heavens! Three days?”

Lark nodded.

“Mister Meredith, it’ll take Faith ‘n me three days just to hire enough extra help to get this place back into ship shape,” Cameron said. “This house has not had a proper cleaning since my wife’s dismissal at the beginning of the year.”

“How about just the second floor . . . where the family living area is?” Lark pressed. “I think we can adequately confine Mister Brett to the guest room on that floor, if need be.”

“Confine?”

“Yes.”

Cameron whistled. “Mister Brett has . . . deteriorated that much?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll need to replace the lock on the second floor master bedroom . . . . ”

“ . . . and find bars for the windows.”

“What about MRS. van Slyke? Did SHE accompany Mister Brett here from San Francisco?”

Lark nodded. “SHE’S gone missing, however” he said gravely. “Took off right in the middle of that big birthday bash Mister Brett threw for himself a few nights ago. She told her aunt that she had return to her room for something, she’d be right back. She never came back.”

“Betwixt you ‘n me, I can’t say as I blame her. Any idea where she’s gone?”

“None. Got Jake checkin’ out a lead named Cartwright . . . . ”

“BEN Cartwright?”

Yeah,” Lark said quickly. “YOU know ‘im?”

“I know OF him,” Cameron said quietly. “Most folks ‘round here know about Ben Cartwright ‘n that Ponderosa spread o’ his.” He frowned. “You figure Mrs. van Slyke’s gone THERE?”

“They were friends once. Her mother was engaged to Mister Cartwright’s oldest boy for a little while.”

“Hm! Small world!”

Lark finished the last of his coffee and set the empty mug down on the table. “Mister Cameron, you didn’t answer my question. Can you get the second floor ready in three days?”

“Faith and I will do what we can.”

“I will see that she’s paid, of course.”

“If it’s all the same to YOU, Mister Meredith, I don’t want Faith’s wages to be in the form of MONEY.”

“Oh?”

“I want a one way ticket, on the ten o’clock stage to Carson City, day after tomorrow,” Cameron said. “She’s been wanting to visit her sister there for quite awhile. I’ve just decided that NOW’S the time.”

“I WAS counting on her to cook our meals.”

“I’LL see to our meals,” Cameron said in a stern tone, that brooked no argument. “Granted my skills in the kitchen pale in comparison to my wife’s, but they’ll have to do. I will NOT, under any circumstances, have Faith anywhere near this place, while Mister Brett is here.”

“I promise you, your wife will be perfectly safe.”

“Mister Meredith, Faith has a friend, who lives with her husband and family in San Francisco,” Cameron said. “They went to school together, and now they write each other at least once a week.” He paused, and looked Lark Meredith straight in the eye, boldly, without flinching. “Mister Meredith, we know all about that poor, unfortunate Miss O’Malley.”

“I see,” Lark sighed. “All right, Mister Dressler. I will send your wife’s stage ticket tomorrow morning by messenger.”

 

“Ben, I’ll be more than happy to provide an affidavit regarding Mrs. Van Slyke’s physical condition,” Paul Martin agreed with a dark scowl. “The sooner she’s away from that . . . that creature she’s married to . . . . ”

“Paul, you don’t even know the HALF of it,” Ben said grimly. He gave the doctor a capsulated version of the information gleaned from the newspaper clippings sent by his old friend in San Francisco.

Paul blanched. “ . . . and I thought I’D seen it all,” he murmured, stunned. “Peggy’s lucky to have escaped with her life.”

“Unfortunately, we’re far from out of the woods, but Adam and I are determined to see that Peggy, and her unborn child, remain safely out of her husband’s clutches.”

“If it’s alright with Lucas, I’ll stop by his office later on this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Paul,” Ben said gratefully. “I need one other favor from you.”

“Sure, Ben, you name it.”

Ben explained the need for more testimony to back up Peggy’s petition for divorce on the grounds of cruelty, as Lucas Milburn had told him two days before. “I need you to send a wire to Doctor Forsythe Phillips in San Francisco. She was seeing him before she left San Francisco. He was also her doctor when she miscarried her second baby because of Brett’s violence.”

“I’ll make inquiries under the dictum of ‘professional consultation and courtesy,’ ” Paul said. “Ben?”

“Yes, Paul?”

“How’s Peggy doing?”

“Her appetite’s picked up, much to Hop Sing’s delight,” Ben said with a smile, “and she’s anxious to be up and around.”

“Good!” Paul heartily approved. “Just make sure she’s doesn’t overly tire herself. I’ll be out at the end of the week to check up on her, Ben, if that’s ok.”

“That’s fine,” Ben agreed.

“Hopefully, by then, I’ll have heard from this Doctor Phillips.”

Thanks to Buck, Ben reached Lucas Milburn’s office a few minutes after leaving the doctor. He paused, as he looped the reins of his horse around the hitching post, unable to shake the uneasy feeling he was being closely watched. He turned, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. He saw nothing unusual in the buggies, the buckboards, riders on horses, and pedestrians moving along the street.

“If I don’t watch myself, Old Friend, I’m gonna start seeing villains, thieves, and scoundrels lurking under every rock and behind every tree,” Ben addressed his remarks to Buck with a rueful smile. He reached up and patted the big palomino’s neck affectionately. “I won’t be long . . . . ”

 

“So THAT’S Ben Cartwright!”

“That’s right, Mister Gormsley!”

Jake Gormsley laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. Aged in his late thirties, he was a man of average height, slender, with thinning brown hair, generously laced with strands of gray. He wore a clean off white shirt, with long sleeves rolled to the elbow, a pair of brown pants, and boots that were well worn, yet still in one piece. He stood across the street from Lucas Milburn’s office watching as Ben Cartwright left his horse and walked inside. Lil Manfred and Laura Dayton were with him. All three kept themselves well inside the shadows cast by the buildings on their side of the street.

Lil turned and favored Jake with a withering glare. “Would you mind telling me what’s so funny?” she demanded with arms folded tight across her ample bosom.

“Gotta hand it to the pair o’ you!” Jake said, shaking his head in wonder. “I mean the girl’s your niece, Mrs. Manfred, and . . . she’s Mrs. Dayton’s DAUGHTER. Yet here you are, willing and eager to hand that poor gal over to the likes of Brett van Slyke. I’ve known some real hard hearted dames in my day, Ladies, but you two top ‘em all.”

Laura gasped, horrified.

“Spare me your moralizing, Mister Gormsley,” Lil growled. “You’re in this for the money, just like WE are. The only difference is Mrs. Dayton and I don’t have the wide range of choices you do, when it comes to how we make our money.”

“True! That’s very true! There’s all KINDS o’ choices out there for the man what likes hard work ‘n low wages,” Jake replied. “Unfortunately, that limits MY options, too, seein’ as how I like high wages and a nice cushy job. Workin’ for the van Slykes, I got both. They pay me handsomely to just watch and observe, and on occasion, ACT at my discretion.”

“What, pray tell, have you been watching and observing?” Lil demanded.

Jake smiled malevolently. “You, Mrs. Manfred. You and Mrs. Dayton to see if you’d lead me to Mrs. van Slyke. Now that you have in a manner o’ speakin’, I can take over from here. The two of you are gonna pack your things and head on back to Placerville.”

“Oh no we’re not!” Lil said complacently.

Jake scowled, sending a chill running down the entire length of Laura’s spine. “Look! Things are dicey enough all the way around without a couple o’ schemin’ dames gettin’ in my way.”

“We have absolutely no intention of getting in your way, Mister Gormsley,” Lil said, using the same insultingly condescending tone she used when trying to explain something to Laura. “You do what you have to do, we won’t interfere.”

“Damn sight better not!” Jake growled.

“However, Mrs. Dayton and I are staying right here in Virginia City, until Mrs. van Slyke is found. After all, she and I have a much larger stake in all this than you do.”

“Oh yeah? Exactly how large a stake are you talkin’ about, Mrs. Manfred.”

“Our survival . . . Mrs. Dayton’s and mine.”

“For a pair o’ survivors, you two sure live high on the hog,” Jake said with a sardonic chuckle.

“NOW what’s so funny?” Lil demanded indignantly.

“I’ll bet, if you went into some of the deep jungles along the Amazon and watched some of the rituals of human sacrifice ‘n cannibalism, you’d be appalled. You’d think it very uncivilized.”

Laura blanched. “H-how horrible!” she gasped.

“It’s all in how ya look at it, Mrs. Dayton. To those Amazon natives, cannibalism’s a very sacred ritual. The idea is to acquire all the things about your enemies that you admire, like his strength, his cunning, his intelligence. So ya gotta pick your human sacrifice very, very carefully.”

“Your point, Mister Gormsley?” Lil snapped.

A malicious smile oozed it’s way slowly across the lower portion of Jake’s clean shaven face. “My point is THIS, Mrs. Manfred. Your willingness to turn that young niece o’ yours over to Brett van Slyke makes you ‘n Mrs. Dayton here no better ‘n those savage, uncivilized cannibals living down in the Amazon jungles.”

“No!” Laura protested. “No! That’s not true!”

“Yeah, it is, Mrs. Dayton. Your daughter’s just as much a human sacrifice as the people those cannibals boil in pots, and the pair o’ you . . . well, you ain’t fit to shine the boots of the folks who cook ‘em for dinner.”

 

Upon returning to the hotel back in Placerville, Lark Meredith found a message waiting for him. It was not the one he expected from San Francisco, rather it was from Jake Gormsley in Virginia City:

 

“Mother and Aunt here [stop] Wife probably at Ponderosa [stop] Still unsure [stop] Send instructions [stop]

J Gormsley [stop, end of message]

 

Lark felt a measure of relief upon learning that Mrs. van Slyke’s mother and aunt were in Virginia City, out of his hair. Jake probably wasn’t very happy with that situation, however . . . .

“Who the hell CARES whether Jake’s happy or not! For now they’re HIS problem!” Lark muttered under his breath as he crumpled the message into a tight ball and stuffed it in his pocket. “I got plenty enough of my own!” He set off in search of the hotel manager.

Nathan Jamison was in the lobby speaking to two customers, a man and woman, both young, and fresh faced. The woman kept her face buried in her hands, while the man, standing with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his own face beet red, spoke with the manager.

Lark watched . . . and waited.

The young man grew more animated, his movements and gestures more sharply defined. Nathan occasionally addressed himself to the young woman, receiving a nod or shake of the head in reply. Once or twice, the men’s voices were raised, though Lark heard none of their words clearly.

As the conversation between the manager and the young couple dragged on, Lark began to pace, pausing to glance over at the clock hanging on the wall behind the registration counter. He counted to ten very slowly, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths between numbers. When, at long last, the man and woman moved off, Lark bounded across the lobby after Nathan, who had turned and started back to his own office.

“Mister Jamison . . . please! A moment, if I may?”

Nathan stopped and turned. “Yes, Mister Meredith?”

He assured the hotel manager that he had wired Mister van Slyke’s father in San Francisco, appraising him of his son’s condition. Though he had not yet heard from the elder Mister van Slyke, he expected to before day’s end. “I also rode over to the lodge to see Mister Dressler, the caretaker. He assures my that he and his wife will to all they can to ready the second floor of the house— ”

“WHY are you telling me this, Mister Meredith?” Nathan’s voice dripped with icicles.

“I need more time, Mister Jamison.”

“More time for what?”

“To remain HERE. ‘Til the end of the week.”

“Out of the question!”

“Please, Mister Jamison! The Dresslers can’t possibly have everything done in three days . . . Please! Just let us stay until the end of the week. That’s all I ask.”

“Mister Meredith, that young couple I was speaking to when you came in?”

“Yeah? What about ‘em?”

“Well it seems Mister van Slyke escaped his gargantuan keeper about an hour after you left this morning, and attacked the woman.”

Lark’s heart plummeted to his feet. “Oh no . . . . ” he murmured softly.

“I’m afraid SO.”

“Please, Mister Jamison, I’m doing everything I can to get him out of here, but I need more time.”

“Mister van Slyke is NOT staying here.”

“I have no where to take him!” Lark said tersely, finally giving vent to the frustration growing within him.

“To be honestly frank, I don’t care,” Nathan said firmly. “Three of our maids quit because they plain and simply got tired of Mister van Slyke chasing them, and making indecent propositions. None of them will venture up to the third floor, I have a bellhop home recovering from injuries inflicted on him by Mister van Slyke during one of his rages, and now he’s attacked a young woman on her honeymoon. Mister Meredith, I have had quite enough.”

“I told you, the ELDER Mister van Slyke is prepared to make amends . . . . ”

“Instead of making amends everywhere his son goes, perhaps the elder Mister van Slyke should look into having his son committed.”

“Do you have any idea what those so called sanitariums are LIKE, on the inside, Mister Jamison?” Lark demanded. “People tied to their beds, or chained to the walls, left alone to babble and . . . and to wallow in their own filth . . . . ”

Nathan lapsed into a stunned, brooding silence for a long moment. At length, he sighed. “Then perhaps the elder Mister van Slyke should lock him up in the attic at home,” he said through clenched teeth. “In any case, the YOUNGER Mister van Slyke is dangerously and violently insane. For the safety of everyone else around him, he should be locked up tight . . . somewhere . . . . ”

“I’ trying to do just THAT over at the lodge, Mister Jamison., but— ”

“Three days, Mister Meredith. Not one second longer.”

 

“Well, Teresa? What do you think?” Peggy stepped from the darkened hallway into the light at the top of the stairs.

Teresa, standing at the foot of the stairs looking up, groaned inwardly. “Peggy, I think YOU look lovely,” she said in all sincerity. “The outfit . . . well, it’ll do until Mrs. Pomeroy can get a few things made.”

The shirt, white and slightly worn at the collar and cuffs, belonged to Hoss. It hung on Peggy like a tunic, reaching to mid-calf. On her feet, she wore a pair of striped socks, borrowed from Joe, and a pair of moccasins, that belonged to Stacy.

Furthermore, Stacy, bless her heart, had gone up to the attic, after finishing her chores in the barn, and rooted through boxes and trunks of old clothes. She finally unearthed an old pair of black pants that once belonged to Adam.

“I’m so glad I’m finally able to take off my pajamas and get dressed, I feel like an absolute fashion plate,” Peggy declared as she trotted happily down the stairs. She had spent the last hour bathing and finally setting to rights the tangle her hair had become. Now, after a vigorous, thorough wash and a ferocious battle with comb and brush, her shining, smooth golden tresses hung loosely about her shoulders.

“Teresa?”

“Yes, Peggy?”

“What are you reading?” Peggy asked, noticing the book tucked under Teresa’s arm for the first time.

Teresa handed the book to Peggy, as the two of them made their way over to the settee.

“The Life of Charlotte Bronte,” Peggy read the title aloud slowly, “by Elizabeth Gaskell.”

“Charlotte Bronte and her sisters were writers,” Teresa replied. “I read her novel Jane Eyre a couple of years ago, and another novel by her sister, ANNE Bronte called The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I enjoyed reading the stories so much, I wanted to know more about the women who wrote them.”

“What are Jane Eyre and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall about?”

“Jane Eyre is about a young woman, who was orphaned as a child and raised by an aunt who didn’t want her,” Teresa replied. “She’s sent off to a harsh boarding school, and eventually takes a job as governess to a French girl living in a mansion out on the English moors in the middle of no where.”

“Sounds mysterious,” Peggy remarked with a smile.

“Jane Eyre IS dark, mysterious, and brooding.”

“What of the other?”

“The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is the story of a woman, who leaves a bad marriage to an abusive, alcoholic husband. She and her son rent Wildfell Hall,” Teresa said quietly. “The story’s told through the eyes of a neighbor, who falls in love with her.”

“Sounds like she’s in the same predicament I am.”

“There ARE similarities, but there’s differences, too.”

“Maybe . . . after my problems with Brett are behind me . . . maybe I can go to the library and see if they have a copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,” Peggy mused as she and Teresa sat down on the settee.

Teresa looked over at Peggy and smiled. “You won’t have to wait that long, Peggy. I’ve been wanting to read The Tenant of Wildfell Hall again, so I brought that one along with me. If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to run up and fetch it down for you.”

Peggy rose. “Stay put, Teresa. It feels so good to be up and around . . . I’ll get it.”

“It’s in Adam’s old room on the book case, top shelf. But, the author’s name on the bonding will be ACTON BELL.”

“Acton Bell . . . Acton Bell . . . Acton Bell,” Peggy repeated the name as she sauntered back toward the stairs.

Adam entered the house a few moments later, his posture stiffly erect, and limping. Hoss followed close behind, grinning from ear to ear.

“Adam?” Teresa gazed over at her husband anxiously, as she rose from her place on the settee.

“Nothing serious, Sweetheart.” Adam’s smile, meant to reassure, seemed forced.

Teresa turned and favored her big brother-in-law with a withering glare. “Eric Hoss Cartwright, if’s he’s been hurt . . . . ”

Hoss tried valiantly to wipe the smile off his face. His success in that endeavor was negligible at best. “Not to worry, Teresa, just a few stiff muscles. Ain’t nothin’ a good rub down with some o’ Hop Sing’s ointment can’t cure.”

Adam’s comically grotesque grimace at his younger brother’s mention of Hop Sing’s ointment, brought a smile to Teresa’s face. “I’ll go ask Hop Sing for that ointment right now,” she said briskly.

“There’s no hurry,” Adam said very quickly.

“Best we get you rubbed down sooner rather than later, Adam,” Teresa countered in her best mother and nurse tone of voice.

“She’s right about that, Adam,” Hoss agreed whole-heartedly.

Adam groaned. “Where’s Peggy?”

“She went upstairs to borrow one of my books,” Teresa replied, as she made her way out toward the kitchen.

“Someone mention my name?”

Hoss and Adam turned toward the stairs and saw Peggy standing at the bottom of the stairs, with book in hand.

“I wondered where that shirt o’ mine got off to,” Hoss mused aloud.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Peggy said. “I just had to get dressed . . . such as it is. I couldn’t stand the thought of spending another entire day lying around in Teresa’s nightgown.”

“So what are you getting ready to read?” Adam asked, as Peggy seated herself in the blue easy chair beside the fireplace.

“The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,” Peggy replied, holding up the book so Adam could see the cover. “Teresa was telling me a little bit about it just now.”

Teresa returned to the living room, with Hop Sing following. The latter carried a small bowl half filled with a thick noxious looking brownish gray-green mixture that looked to be a hybrid cross between a thick oil and a thin, runny cream. The only thing worse than its appearance was its aroma.

“Come, Mister Adam. Hop Sing fix you up good!”

“That’s what I’m deathly afraid of,” Adam said with a grimace. “May as well get it over with.” He rose stiffly from his place on the settee, pausing briefly to cast a filthy, withering glare in the direction of his wife and younger, bigger brother. “There WILL be repercussions,” he growled.

“Is that a threat?” Teresa countered lightly, with a smile.

“No, that’s a promise.” With that, Adam turned slowly and walked toward the stairs.

Hop Sing silently followed. A smug, cat-that-ate-the-canary grin slowly spread across his lips.

“Teresa, is Pa back from town yet?” Hoss asked, as he settled himself into the red easy chair.

“No.”

Hoss frowned. “How ‘bout Joe ‘n Stacy? The road was too wet this mornin’ for Sun Dancer to be out racin’, but they wanted to get him out ‘n exercise him.”

Teresa shook her head. “Joe and Stacy aren’t back yet, either. In fact, I was getting ready to ask if YOU might’ve seen them or Ben on YOUR way in,” Teresa said. An anxious frown creased the smooth surface of her brow. “I’m getting a little concerned.”

“I’m sure everything’s alright,” Hoss said with far more confidence than he felt. “They oughtta along any time now. It’s pert near dinner time, an’ for all they tease ME, I can’t say I’ve ever known Pa or my li’l brother t’ ever miss a meal either.”

“Did I just hear my name taken in vain?” It was Joe, stepping through the front door.

“Where’s Stacy?” Hoss asked.

“She’s out in the barn with Pa, tending the horses,” Joe said quietly as he placed his hat on the wall rack and removed his gun belt. “We met him out on the road on our way back. Where’s Adam?”

“He’s upstairs gettin’ a good rubdown with Hop Sing’s muscle ointment,” Hoss said with a smile. “I’m afraid our older brother just found out the hard way how many years it’s been since he last did any bronco bustin’.”

Joe laughed unable to quite contain himself.

“Joseph Francis Cartwright, didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s not nice to laugh at others’ misfortune, even if he IS your oldest brother?” Teresa admonished her young brother-in-law with mock severity.

“S-Sorry, Teresa!” Joe managed to rein in his laughter, but the smile remained. “Pa gave me a couple of envelopes and told me to pass ‘em on to Adam. They’re from Sheriff Coffee.”

“I’ll be more than happy to take them up,” Teresa offered.

“Thank you, Teresa!” Joe said, handing her the envelopes.

“It’s sure takin’ Pa ‘n Stacy long enough to unsaddle those horses,” Hoss observed with a frown.

“Pa wanted to talk to her about something,” Joe said, his mirth fading.

“It’s about Brett isn’t it?” Peggy said apprehensively.

“He didn’t tell me what he wanted to talk with Stacy about, Peggy, but you’re probably right,” Joe said quietly.

“Did . . . did Uncle Ben tell you what he f-found out today?”

“No, but judging from the look on his face . . . I don’t think the news is gonna be good.”

 

Smiling, Teresa paused outside the closed door to the bedroom she and Adam shared, and knocked.

“Who is it?” Adam responded in that weary, long-suffering tone he generally reserved when asking for details of their children’s most current misbehavior.

“It’s me, Adam,” Teresa replied.

“Come in.”

Teresa entered the room and found her husband lying across the bed, face down and sans shirt. Hop Sing was in the midst of giving Adam a vigorous, thorough massage, making generous use of the ointment, sitting in its bowl on the night table.

“Mister Adam not young like used to be,” Hop Sing admonished him severely. “Mister Adam older, almost old like Papa.”

“Thanks a lot,” Adam growled, as Teresa quickly covered her mouth the hide her smile.

“Those facts of life, Mister Adam! Too old for bust up broncos! Must be more careful!”

“I WILL certainly try to be more careful,” Adam promised.

“You rest now! Hop Sing fix dinner!” With that, Hop Sing gathered up the bowl of ointment and ambled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Adam rolled over onto his back, and sat up, carefully easing his legs, one at a time, over the side of the bed.

“Nice!” Teresa remarked, gazing at her husband’s unclothed upper torso with open and frank admiration. “I’ve always loved men with fur coats.”

“Woman, you’re absolutely incorrigible!” Adam declared, grinning from ear to ear.

“ . . . to be ‘incorriged’ at all times,” Teresa quipped seating herself on the bed, very close beside him.

“What’s up?”

“Ben’s back, along with Stacy and Joe,” Teresa replied. “He wanted you to see these. They’re apparently from Sheriff Coffee.”

Adam took the envelopes from Teresa and rose. He quickly read the wired messages from the police department in San Francisco, and from it’s chief. “All in all, I suppose I shouldn’t be TOO surprised,” he remarked, as he handed the telegrams he had just read back to his wife.

“It must have cost a bundle for the police chief to sent THIS wire,” Teresa mused archly, as she gave the long message a quick glance. “Either he likes the van Slyke family very much, or they pay him a very handsome salary, if you get my meaning?”

“I do, Teresa. I do indeed.”

As Teresa read the telegram and the police chief’s letter, Adam quickly donned a clean shirt, then opened the envelope containing the note and the newspaper clippings. “Good Lord!” he whispered, stunned.

“Adam? What is it?” Teresa asked, noting his pallid complexion, and eyes round and staring fixedly to the article held in a hand that trembled slightly.

“Here! Read it for yourself!” Adam handed the earliest dated article over to his wife, then waited as she read.

Upon finishing, Teresa closed her eyes, and forced herself to take a deep breath. “Madre Di Dios!” she murmured, shaking her head. Adam noted that her normal, ruddy complexion was almost ashen. “What Peggy must have gone through . . . . ” She opened her eyes and looked up at Adam, her gaze meeting and holding his. “Adam, this . . . My God! This is far worse than anything I could EVER have imagined! What are we going to do?”

“What do YOU want to do?” Adam asked.

“I want to do everything I can to help Peggy get free of that . . . that . . . of that monster!” Teresa stated very quietly, yet very emphatically.

“I feel the same way,” Adam said with a grim, steely determination. “Did Pa say anything to you about . . . this?” He pointed to the newspaper clipping in Teresa’s hand.

“No, Joe said he was out in the barn talking with Stacy,” Teresa replied. “My guess is he’s telling her about what we just got through reading, but sparing her the more alarming details.”

Adam nodded.

“We’d better wire my mother in Sacramento, as soon as possible. She’s supposed to be arriving with Benjy and Dio in another couple of weeks. I think, under the circumstances, we’d better tell her not to come until we send for them.”

“I agree.”

 

“Pa, it’s not fair!” Stacy declared vehemently.

“You’re absolutely right, it’s NOT fair!” Ben agreed wholeheartedly. The thought of restricting this free spirit he knew as daughter was tantamount to thrusting a sword through his own heart. “But, I hope you understand it’s necessary.”

Stacy nodded. She understood only too well after having been abducted herself less than three months ago by a man hell-bent on murdering her in order to satisfy the bitter, deep seated hatred he had nursed against Ben Cartwright and Paris McKenna, her father and mother, over a period of many years. The fact that it happened while she was in the company of her father was all the more unsettling.

Even so, the prospect of having her freedom so strictly curtailed again, so soon, was sheer torture nonetheless.

“You’ll still be able to train Sun Dancer,” Ben pointed out, “since Hoss and Joe . . . even Candy are all working with you on that.”

“You’re still going to let me race Sun Dancer in the Independence Day Race?”

“Of COURSE I am!” Ben declared stoutly, bolstered by the sudden appearance of a small ray of hope he saw reflected in her face and in her eyes. “That would be pretty silly of me not to let the fastest horse in the whole state of Nevada enter that race, now wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would!” Stacy agreed. For a moment, Ben thought she was actually going to smile. The moment faded, and with it, the brief glimpse of sunshine and light. “Pa?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got to promise me something,” Stacy said, her face set with grim determination.

“I will if I can,” Ben said warily.

“I mean it, Pa.” Stacy verbally pounced on his hesitation with both feet. Her eyes burned with fierce, angry determination. “If push comes down to shove, and we end up having to fight it out with Brett van Slyke, I stand WITH you guys.”

Ben nodded, knowing full well that argument would be useless. “Stacy,” he said, placing a paternal hand on her shoulder, “I wouldn’t want my Fighting Irish Knight Errant anywhere else EXCEPT by my side.”

 

That evening, Lark Meredith half walked, half stumbled into the Lucky Lady Saloon in Placerville, located directly across the street from the hotel. His eyelids felt like some one had tied a ten-ton weight to each. He collapsed against the bar with a big yawn.

“Good evening, Mister Meredith,” the bartender, a man named Everett Monroe greeted him affably. “The usual?”

“Not tonight,” Lark shook his head. “I’ll have a bottle o’ whiskey and a glass. It’s been a real long day!”

Everett nodded and moved off, returning a few moments later with a full bottle of whiskey and a clean glass. “I hear you folks are gonna be leavin’ us soon,” the bartender said as he placed bottle and glass down on the bar in front of Lark.

Lark glanced up at him sharply. “Where’d you hear THAT?” he demanded.

Everett shrugged. “Different people.”

“Well, we ARE pretty close to winding up our business here,” Lark said evasively, as he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“You movin’ out to the lodge?”

It was in the tip of Larks’ tongue to tell the bartender in no uncertain terms to mind his own business. No point in THAT, he decided with an indifferent shrug. If Everett Monroe already knew the van Slykes’ business, chances were everyone in Placerville already knew, too. “We got some matters to take care of over in Virginia City,” Lark said. He raised the glass of whiskey to his lips and downed its entire contents in a single gulp. “After that, perhaps, if the younger Mister van Slyke is of a mind to take time off ‘n relax.”

“Any word as the whereabouts of Mrs. van Slyke?”

“We think she may be with friends.”

Everett nodded. “That WAS a pretty big set-to they had a few nights ago. Y’ know? Sometimes, when things get THAT hot ‘n heavy? It does a couple good if one or t’ other’s able to go away for a few days. Gives ‘em both a little time alone t’ cool off.” He smiled. “Sure worked well enough for the missus ‘n ME all the years we wuz married.”

Two rowdy customers at the other end of the bar loudly demanded immediate service. Everett moved off to serve them, much to Lark’s relief. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the neck of the bottle, picked up the glass, and moved to a table in a far dark corner, with a single chair. There, he sat unmoving, his elbows flanking the near full glass in front of him, with chin resting heavily on the palms of his hands. He stared morosely into the amber depths of the whiskey. There had been no reply from San Francisco. He had checked at the hotel desk and at the Western Union office before coming here, to the saloon.

He took another sip from the glass, wondering what in the world he was going to do about finding lodging for his employer’s son until the Dresslers could get the second floor of the lodge ready. He had gone to the other two hotels in Placerville. Neither were anywhere near as nice as the one they were in now, of course, but beggars can’t afford to be choosy. The manager of the first place he visited was polite, yet very firm in his refusal to lodge the van Slyke Party. The other manager didn’t bother to trouble himself with the niceties of common courtesy. He simply ordered Lark to leave his establishment, peppering his request with a vast array of colorful invectives.

Even if the Dresslers COULD guarantee that the second floor would be ready within the next three days, there were other things to consider. Laying in food supplies was one. Bed linens, blankets, towels, even pillows . . . all of THOSE would have to be purchased NEW, since Mister Horace had taken all that stuff with HIM back to San Francisco, the last time he had visited.

“ . . . I can’t even START shopping until Mister van Slyke in San Francisco gets his wherewithal together long enough to wire the bank here, to release enough money so I can buy what I need to buy,” Lark groused in silence.

Maybe . . . .

If Horace van Slyke’s reply arrived tomorrow morning, releasing the funds in the family account at First Mercantile, Lark COULD spend the morning shopping, laying in supplies. The Dresslers had today and tomorrow to get things cleaned and ready. If they could just concentrate their efforts on the second floor guest bedroom, MISTER Dressler could finish up the remaining house cleaning, after his wife left for Carson City.

In the meantime, he and Hoyt could certainly “rough it,” until the rest of the second floor could be cleaned, and made habitable.

Or maybe tomorrow would finally be the day the elder van Slyke sent word informing them that all the nasty, sordid business concerning Brett and that barmaid had been cleared up, and they could return home. All of them! The younger Mister van Slyke . . . his wife, IF they ever found her . . . the wife’s insipid mother and ruthless aunt . . . the accountants . . . good riddance to every last one of them.

“How in the ever lovin’ world are we gonna get Brett van Slyke safely back to San Francisco when the time comes?” Lark groaned aloud, softly, under his breath. His initial elation at the prospect of being at long last rid of the van Slyke party quickly plummeted to the very depths of despair. Over the past three days, Brett van Slyke’s condition had steadily worsened. Though his “valet,” Hoyt Pyle, was big, and could be pretty mean if the situation demanded it, even he was hard pressed to keep Brett van Slyke under wraps. Lark had grave doubts as to whether the two of them could adequately handle Brett van Slyke on that long trip back to San Francisco.

Lark lifted his glass once again, intending to finish what remained. He froze for a moment, with the glass poised mid-way between the table and his lips as a fleeting cold draft gently wafted over him.

“Sudden cold chill means someone’s walkin’ across your grave, Lark,” his mother’s words spoken in a quivering frightened voice echoed in his ears over a long stretch of years gone by. “Quick! Cross yourself ‘n say the ‘Our Father.’ ”

Lark shuddered. His hand, with its fingers wrapped tight around the whiskey glass, rose automatically to cross himself. Suddenly, he slammed the glass back down on the table, hard, sloshing two thirds of the remaining whiskey on the table. “Damn’ silly superstition!” he growled, as he angrily shoved the empty bottle and glass aside. He rose unsteadily to his feet and sauntered out of the saloon.

When he returned to the hotel, Lark found a reply from San Francisco waiting at the front desk. He rudely snatched the envelope, into which the message from the telegraph office had been placed, from the clerk’s hand, and opened it with eager anticipation. His face fell as he read:

 

“Mister Meredith [stop]

Have seen to matter regarding wife and child [stop] Not safe yet to return [stop] Will advise [stop]

Yours [stop]

HvS [stop; end of message]”

 

As he stood, his eyes glued to the long awaited message from Horace van Slyke, Lark was suddenly possessed with a strong, nearly overpowering urge to run. Just run! It didn’t much matter where . . . just anywhere, far, far away from here, and the van Slykes, and all their problems. Let the likes of that bossy Nathan Jamison handle things from now on, or better yet, that passel of useless accountants, who had nothing better to do day after day, except complain about the food being too hot, the mattresses being too lumpy, or the rotgut whiskey served in the saloons. Lark would have loved seeing them try.

“No!” Lark, with clenched teeth, shook his head. “No! I’ll see that Brett van Slyke gets back to San Francisco. After THAT, I give my resignation.”

 

“Hoss Cartwright, just what do you think you’re doing?” Stacy demanded angrily, the following morning. She stood framed in the open door to the barn, with fists planted firmly on hips, leveling a dark glare at her biggest brother.

“I’m muckin’ out the stalls,” Hoss affably stated the obvious.

“I’M supposed to be mucking out the stalls.”

Hoss grinned. “I had no idea you enjoyed doin’ this job so much, Li’l Sister.”

“I don’t,” she snapped. “But, a bet’s a bet, remember?”

“I know, but when trouble’s afoot, all bets are OFF.”

“Postponed!”

Hoss sighed. “All right, Li’l Sister, postponed.”

“I mean it, Hoss.”

“I mean it, too. Tell you what, Stacy?”

“What?”

“Seein’ as how you’re here, if y’ could give me a hand with the last few stalls, I think you ‘n I might be able t’ squeeze in a ride out t’ Ponderosa Plunge ‘n back before breakfast is ready.”

The dark angry scowl on her face evaporated, almost as if it had never been. “Really, Hoss?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah . . . if we quit talkin’ ‘n git t’ work.”

Stacy quickly located another bucket and shovel. She stepped into the stall adjoining the one where Hoss worked, and eagerly pitched right in. Brother and sister worked diligently and hard together in companionable silence, finishing the onerous chore in record time.

“Why don’t you run on in the house . . . leave a note for Pa, an’ while you’re at it y’ can grab our hats ‘n my gun belt,” Hoss suggested. “I’ll saddle Chubb ‘n Blaze Face.”

“Ok, Big Brother.” Stacy turned and impulsively threw her arms around his waist. “Thanks,” she said gratefully, as she hugged him tight.

Hoss smiled, and hugged her back. “You’re welcome. Now you’d best skedaddle! Time’s a wastin’!”

Stacy nodded and ran off, returning within a scant few minutes with everything Hoss had requested, plus their jackets. “Pa was already up,” she explained as she handed Hoss his gun belt, then his jacket. “He said he didn’t want the two of us catching our death of cold.”

Hoss slipped on his gun belt and jacket. “It IS a mite chilly this mornin’,” he said by way of agreement as he took his hat from Stacy and deftly placed it on his head.

Stacy slipped on her own hat and jacket, then turned to help Hoss finish saddling Chubb.

The vivid colors of the early morning sunrise gave way to a rich, golden amber light, as Hoss and Stacy left the yard, riding their horses, Chubb and Blaze Face. Hoss led them along the more circuitous, scenic route that wound its way through forest and meadow, and past stream.

“Hoss, look!” Stacy pointed to a tree up ahead, where two squirrels chased each other along the trunk. She and Hoss paused and watched the graceful, fluid choreography of the small mammals’ movements up and down the tree trunk.

In the branches above, they heard the harsh, strident cry of a jay calling. Hoss called back a response, in perfect, precise mimicry. The jay responded. Hoss and bird carried on a long conversation, much to the wonderment and delight of his young sister. At length, Hoss and Stacy emerged from the trees out onto the rock promontory of Ponderosa Plunge. They were very much surprised to find they were not alone.

“Good morning, Big Brother . . . Little Sister,” Adam greeted his approaching younger siblings with a broad grin and a wave. His wife stood behind him, a little to the right, smiling.

“ ‘Mornin’, Adam . . . ‘mornin’, Teresa,” Hoss greeted his older brother and sister-in-law.

“Good morning, Oldest Brother . . . and you, too, Teresa . . . . ” Stacy smiled remembering the morning the pair of them had returned to the house with an abundance of pine needles in their hair and disheveled clothing.

“I’ve ALWAYS loved this spot,” Adam said with a dreamy smile on his face, as he turned to contemplate the view.

“I love coming out here, too,” Stacy said quietly. “Especially when whatever problems I’m having start to overwhelm me. I come out here for awhile, and all the things that were so big and overwhelming . . . aren’t anymore.”

“ . . . and you start to see that whatever the issue is, you CAN work it out, even solve it?”

Stacy looked up into her oldest brother’s face, surprised and delighted that he somehow understood.

“That’s the way it was for me, too,” Adam confirmed, gratified to find a piece of common ground with this young sister he had met for the first time almost a month before. “Your mother used to ride out here often herself, after Pa and I showed her this place.”

“She did? Really?”

Adam nodded.

“Adam, what was she like . . . back then?” Stacy asked.

Adam smiled. “She was very much like YOU in a lot of ways, Little Sister,” he replied. “I’ll always remember her as a very free spirited, independent woman, wild and impulsive sometimes, and always loving, kind, and gracious. She was very quick tempered, but her anger always passed very quickly. She also loved beautiful scenic places like this, and loved spending time there.”

“There was a place near the lake where she and Pa used to go together to watch the sun set,” Stacy said quietly.

“ . . . among OTHER things,” Adam mused in silence, as he fondly remembered the numerous times Paris and their father came back from that place, their hair laced with pine needles, clothing ever so slightly disheveled, holding hands, and smiling contentedly at one another. If Little Joe was actually conceived right here on the spot where the four of them stood, as Teresa had told him their first morning here, then that place down by the lake was, more than likely where his young sister was conceived. Aloud, he said, “I’ve never told anyone this before, but I always felt sorry that your mother and Pa never married. Now that I’ve met YOU, Stacy, I regret that even more. I would’ve enjoyed having a baby sister around.”

“Thanks, Adam,” Stacy said quietly, as she slipped her arms around his waist and squeezed.

Adam put his own arms around Stacy’s shoulders, squeezed back with genuine affection, then held her close for a moment, remembering how a simple touch of hand, or a quick affectionate squeeze always meant so very much to her mother. Unlike Paris, however, Stacy wasn’t the least bit shy or apprehensive about being the first to reach out and touch others she loved and cared about. No wonder his father and brothers, especially Joe, who himself was as tactile oriented, had fallen so completely in love with this “mere slip of a gal,” as Pa described her in that first letter following their homecoming from Fort Charlotte nearly five years ago.

“I, uh think we’d best be moseyin’ along,” Hoss ventured, reluctant to bring the bonding happening between Stacy and Adam to an end so soon. “If we start back now, we’ll just make it back in time f’r breakfast.”

“Stomach rumbling already, Big Brother?” Adam teased gently.

“I wasn’t thinkin’ so much about my stomach as I was about how Hop Sing’s gonna have a fit if we ain’t there t’ dig in while it’s hot,” Hoss retorted good naturedly.

“Big Brother speaks absolutely true!” Stacy agreed wholeheartedly.

The four untethered their horses and climbed up onto their backs. This time, Hoss led everyone back along the more direct route toward the main road. As they moved out onto the main road, and turned toward the Ponderosa, a shot from an unseen rifle rang out, spooking their horses.

Hoss quickly reined in Chubb, then rode first to help Teresa bring her own horse, Guinevere, to order.

“Thank you, Hoss,” Teresa said gratefully.

“You all right?”

Teresa nodded. “What about Stacy and Adam?”

After Stacy had managed to rein in and calm Blaze Face, she looked over at her oldest brother, and saw, to her relief, that he had already brought the high-spirited Sport II to order.

“You ok, Adam?” Stacy asked.

“I’m fine. Where’s Teresa?”

“Not to worry! She’s over there with Hoss, and it looks like they’ve got Guinevere calmed down now, too.”

“Now that I know everyone’s alright, I’d like to know just who in the hell’s shooting at us!” Teresa declared with a dark angry scowl, as her hot Latin temper got the better of her.

“Whoever it is probably ain’t shootin’ at US or anybody else,” Hoss said, as Adam and Stacy rode over to join them. “They was more ‘n likely aimin’ at some wild animal an’ . . . . ” A second shot rudely interrupted Hoss mid-sentence.

Adam blanched as the bullet whizzed by less than a half inch from his ear. “STACY, GET DOWN . . . NOW!” he shouted, as he himself quickly dismounted. “HOSS . . . TERESA, YOU, TOO!”

Before Stacy could even think of moving, a third shot rang out, striking her head. Blaze Face, now thoroughly panicked, reared, dumping his insensate rider like an ungainly sack of potatoes. Even as he ran to help his stricken sister, Adam’s eyes darted over the landscape before him, frantically searching for something, anything, that would serve as adequate cover. Hoss meanwhile had half jumped half fallen off of Chubb’s back. With heart in mouth, he immediately ran to help Teresa, as she dismounted.

“HOSS! TERESA! OVER THERE!” Adam pointed to a couple of boulders sitting about thirty yards from the edge of the road. He quickly scooped Stacy’s inert form in his arms and bolted, as a fourth and fifth shot rang out.

“Teresa, run!” Hoss ordered tersely, drawing his own gun from it’s holster. He took aim and fired at a small group of trees growing on the other side of the road.

Adam, with Stacy, reached the shelter of the rocks first, with Teresa arriving less than a second later.

Teresa pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her riding skirt and pressed it hard against Stacy’s profusely bleeding temple for a moment. “Thank God! That bullet merely grazed her,” she murmured softly, upon removing her handkerchief for a closer look at the wound.

Stacy, still lying cradled in Adam’s arms, groaned softly and began to stir.

“Easy, Stacy, lie still,” Teresa gently admonished her young sister-in-law.

Hoss joined his brother, sister, and sister-in-law, a few moments later. “How’s Stacy?” he demanded.

“The bullet branded her, that’s all,” Adam replied.

Hoss slowly let out the breath he had been holding.

“H-Hoss . . . ?” Stacy groaned.

“I’m right here, ‘n I’m just fine, Li’l Sister.” Hoss reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “You just lie still ‘n relax. We’ll have ya home ‘fore ya know it.” This last was uttered with far more confidence than he felt.

“Hoss, were you able to get a look at whoever was shooting at us?” Adam asked.

Hoss grimly shook his head. “When they fired ‘n hit Stacy, I caught sunlight glintin’ on metal over in the trees over there . . . on the other side o’ the road,” he replied.

“You think they’re still there?” Teresa asked.

“I don’t know f’r sure, Teresa. All I DO know is I ain’t seen anyone come outta that clump o’ trees.”

“One way to find out,” Adam said grimly. Keeping one arm firmly around Stacy, he reached up with his free hand and removed his hat. “Sit this up on top of the rock there, and see what happens.”

Hoss took Adam’s hat and carefully set it atop the large rock that sheltered them. The gesture was immediately answered by rifle fire. One shot, followed by a second. A third came a moment later, followed straightaway by a fourth, which knocked Adam’s hat from its perch. Teresa moved close to Adam and Stacy, shielding the latter with her own body. Hoss pressed up close against the rock, jumping up to return fire before the echoes of the fourth shot had a chance to die away. The fifth shot from the trees across the road sent Hoss ducking for cover post haste.

A sudden volley of return fire erupted across the road, originating from a place beyond the clump of trees sheltering whoever had been firing upon them. Hoss and Adam exchanged worried glances. An apprehensive silence settled over all four like a thick shroud.

“HOSS!”

“That’s Pa!” Hoss declared the obvious, his profound relief evident in his tone of voice and in the way his entire body sagged heavily against the rock support behind him.

“HOSS!”

Hoss quickly scrambled to his feet, clinging to the rock for support. “HERE, PA!” he shouted back at the top of his voice.

A moment later, Ben emerged on foot from the trees across the way. “IS EVERYONE ALL RIGHT?”

“STACY’S HIT . . . . ”

“WHAT?!”

“SHE’LL BE ALRIGHT, PA!” Hoss shouted back quickly, as he emerged from cover.

Ben, with heart in mouth ran ahead, meeting Hoss in the middle of the road.

“Stacy’s gonna be alright, Pa. The bullet branded her, that’s all.”

“Thank God!” Ben murmured a short, heartfelt prayer of relief and gratitude. “Where is she?”

“Behind the rock where I was, with Teresa ‘n Adam. Stacy ‘n I met ‘em out at Ponderosa Plunge. We were on our way back to the house when someone started shootin’ at us the minute we stepped onto the road.”

“All four of your horses showed up in the front yard without you,” Ben explained. “We . . . Joe, Candy, Hank, and a couple of the other men . . . heard gunfire, so we cut across the meadow and snuck up behind the people firing at you.”

“Didja get ‘em, Pa?”

“Oh yeah, we got ‘em,” Ben said grimly.

“Does Joe need any help?”

“I’d say he has things pretty well in hand,” Ben turned and gestured broadly toward the clump of trees, as Joe and Candy emerged into the light, both armed with rifles. Hank followed, leading Buck and Cochise. Hoss’ jaw dropped in complete and utter astonishment upon seeing the two people walking in front Joe, Candy, and the business end of their rifles. Lil Manfred, walked slightly ahead of Laura Dayton, with hands upraised and a defiant, angry scowl on her face. Laura’s head was bowed, her face and eyes fixed resolutely to her feet.

Ben, meanwhile, made his way behind the rock, where Adam and Teresa remained with Stacy cradled between them. Teresa rose as her father-in-law approached and moved aside. Ben half smiled, and nodded his thanks before kneeling down beside Stacy and Adam.

“Pa?” Stacy murmured softly, reaching out her hand.

“Right here,” Ben said, taking her hand in his. “You all right?”

“My whole body hurts, especially my head.”

“I don’t THINK Stacy broke anything, Pa, but she DID take a nasty tumble off of Blaze Face,” Adam said gravely. “It might be a good idea to have Doctor Martin look her over, just to make sure everything’s alright.”

“I agree, Adam,” Ben said. “I’ll send someone to fetch him.”

“Were you able to catch the men firing at us?” Adam asked.

“Yes, we caught the people shooting at you, and no, they’re not men,” Ben said, as an angry scowl knotted his brow. “They’re women.”

“What?!” Adam looked over at his father, stunned.

Ben nodded. “None other than our old ‘friends,’ Laura Dayton and Lil Manfred.”

 

 

End of Part 2

 

***

 

1\. Bonanza episode #166, titled “The Pressure Game,” written by Don Tait.

2\. Horace Banning is the husband of “The Lady From Baltimore” --- Episode #83, written by Elliott Arnold.


	3. Deliverance

“Lil, why?” Adam demanded.

“If you’re lookin’ for an apology, don’t hold your breath!” Lil said, favoring Adam with a defiant, angry glare.

“I’m NOT looking for an apology,” Adam said, struggling to keep his own anger in check. “I simply want to know why.”

“I told you when we left the other day that our conversation wasn’t over,” Lil said.

Adam glanced over at Laura, riding on the other side of her aunt, with her eyes glued to her hands, clutching the reins. “Laura?” he prodded gently.

Laura glanced up sharply, upon hearing her name. Her face, with its pallid complexion, and wide staring eyes, reminded him of a frightened deer, trapped amid a circle of hunters.

“Laura, perhaps YOU can tell me why,” Adam addressed her in a kindlier tone.

“Laura, keep your mouth shut!” Lil snapped.

“Laura, you and Lil are in a lot of serious trouble,” Adam said, taking care to keep his tone well measured and even. He, Joe, and Candy were escorting two prisoners to the Virginia City jail. One of them was an old, once very dear friend. The other was a woman that the first had long ago introduced to him as her favorite aunt. Less than a half an hour ago, Aunt Lil had ambushed himself, his wife, his big brother, Hoss, and young sister, Stacy, as they were returning home from a brisk morning ride. One of the bullets fired branded the side of Stacy’s head, and panicked Blaze Face, her horse. The terrified horse reared upward, dumping his unconscious rider, before fleeing. The others horses also fled in terror. Adam had given Stacy a brief glance over, while he, Teresa, and Hoss huddled together behind a couple of boulders, away from Lil Manfred’s rifle fire. Thankfully, she didn’t APPEAR to have been seriously hurt by the bullet brand and her fall off of Blaze Face. Only Doctor Martin could make that determination, however . . . .

“Laura?”

Laura Dayton looked over at Adam, her eyes round with fear.

“Please, Laura,” Adam began in a gentler, more conciliatory tone, “if you’d just tell me what’s going on here . . . why your aunt was taking pot shots at us just now . . . maybe my father and I can do something to help you.”

“We don’t need YOUR help, Adam,” Lil stated imperiously.

“Why don’t you let Laura speak for herself, Lil?” Adam countered in a tone that dripped icicles.

“Why don’t the two of you just leave me alone?” Laura suddenly burst into tears.

“Thanks a lot, Adam,” Lil growled. “NOW I’m gonna be locked in a jail cell, forced to put up with her bawling and whimpering all day and probably all night as well.”

“Adam, you’re not going to get anything out of those two,” Joe said, his own voice taut with anger. “Pa tried, too, when he found out they, rather Lil. was the one doing the shooting.”

“You’re probably right,” Adam was forced to agree. He sighed and shook his head. “I just don’t understand,” he murmured aloud, addressing no one in particular.

The five of them reached the sheriff’s office in record time. Roy Coffee turned the prisoners, Laura Dayton and Lil Manfred over to his deputy, Clem Foster. Clem immediately escorted both women to the jail cells in the room adjoining Roy’s office.

“You can jail us now, if you want, but Laura and I will be free as a couple of birds by this time tomorrow, Sheriff,” Lil crowed, as Clem literally dragged her back to the jail cell. “You mark my words.”

“Joe . . . Adam, now that we have Mrs. Manfred and Mrs. Dayton handed over to Sheriff Coffee’s tender mercies, why don’t I mosey on down to the clinic and see if Doc Martin’s in?” Candy offered.

“Good idea,” Joe agreed immediately. “The sooner he can check Stacy over ‘n, hopefully, give her a clean bill of health, the better I’m gonna feel.”

“I agree with Joe completely,” Adam said with an emphatic nod of his head.

“We’ll see you back at the house later, Candy,” Joe said.

Candy nodded, then set off.

“What happened to Stacy?” Roy asked anxiously.

“The third shot Mrs. Manfred fired branded the side of Stacy’s head and spooked her horse,” Adam said, scowling. “Blaze Face reared, and sent her tumbling.”

“That bullet brand must’ve knocked her senseless,” Joe said grimly, “or else she would’ve stuck to that saddle like glue, no matter how spooked Blaze Face was.”

“Adam, what happened out there?” Roy asked. He sat down on the chair behind his desk and gestured for the two Cartwright brothers to pull up a couple of chairs.

Adam pulled the nearest chair at hand up close to the desk and sat down. He told Roy everything that happened from the time he, Teresa, Hoss, and Stacy left Ponderosa Plunge and ending with his father and youngest brother coming to their rescue. Roy took careful notes of all that Adam told him.

“Joe?”

Joe sat straddling his chair, resting his head on arms folded atop its back. He started at the sound of his name.

“You all right, Son?”

Joe shook his head to clear it of all the mental cobwebs. “Sorry, Sheriff Coffee. I’m a little worried about Stacy, that’s all.”

“I gotta question for YOU, if I may.”

Joe shrugged. “Sure.”

“How’d you ‘n Ben know Adam an’ the rest were in trouble?”

“We figured something was amiss when their horses showed up in the front yard without ‘em,” Joe replied. “Pa ran in to ask Hop Sing to keep close tabs on our, um . . . houseguest, while I went to the bunk house to get Candy, Hank, and a couple of the other men. We rode out along the main road, and . . . I guess we were about a quarter mile away, if you measure along the curve of the road . . . we heard the sound of rifle fire.”

“Did you know that was your family bein’ fired upon?”

“We didn’t know for sure. We went off the road, and cut through the meadow in back of the trees where Lil and Laura were holed up,” Joe continued. “Lil . . . Mrs. Manfred . . . was so intent on shooting at Adam, Teresa, Hoss, and Stacy, she never saw Pa ‘n me comin’.”

“Mrs. Manfred was the only one doin’ to shootin’?”

“Yeah,” Joe nodded curtly. “Laura wasn’t even armed. We found HER sitting on a fallen log, with her hands tight against her ears.”

“What happened when you ‘n Ben snuck up on ‘em from behind?”

“Pa ordered Mrs. Manfred to drop the rifle. Like I said just now, SHE was the one doing all the shooting. I kept my rifle on her while Pa stepped in and took hers.” Joe’s angry scowl deepened. “Mrs. Manfred told us straight out that she’d been shooting at Adam ‘n Hoss.”

“Adam . . . . ” Roy returned his attention back to the eldest of the Cartwright offspring. “You got any idea as t’ WHY Mrs. Manfred was shootin’ at ya?”

Adam recounted the brief conversation he had with Lil as they rode into Virginia City. He also gave Roy the details of what had transpired the day Lil and Laura drove out to the Ponderosa looking for Peggy.

Roy cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, noting that the doors between his office and the room housing the jail cells had been closed. “Adam, do they . . . . ” he inclined his head in the general direction of the jail cells, “ . . . know where Peggy is, exactly?”

“They never saw her, of course,” Adam said, taking great care to keep his voice low. “When they showed up at the Ponderosa, Pa did pretty much all the talking, and HE never admitted anything. The only thing they have to go on is Lil’s suspicions.”

Roy dutifully made note of that on the pad of paper he used to note down Adam’s testimony. “I’m gonna hafta talk to Ben, Hoss, Teresa, an’ Stacy, too, if she’s up f’r it,” he said, rising. Joe and Adam followed suit.

“Any time, Sheriff,” Joe said quietly. “I’ll let Pa know.”

“I’d offer to buy you a beer, Oldest Brother, but all things considered, I think we oughtta be gettin’ on back,” Joe said as he and Adam untethered their horses from the hitching post in the street, right in front of the sheriff’s office.

“You’re right, about returning home posthaste,” Adam agreed. “As for the beer, you’ve still got the rest of the summer yet.”

“I hope you’re not too put out about Little Sister wanting to go home with Pa, instead of you,” Joe said, as he swung himself up onto Cochise’s saddle.

Adam smiled. “No, I’m well used to THAT,” he said affably.

Joe favored his oldest brother with a puzzled frown. “Oh. You mean because Benjy and Dio want their MOTHER whenever they’re sick or hurt?”

Adam shook his head. “Actually, I was thinking about you and Hoss, back when the two of YOU were Stacy’s age . . . and younger. As I recall both of YOU wanted Pa, too, whenever you were sick or injured.”

Ben, meanwhile, took Stacy home with him on Buck. Through out the entire way home, she rested against him, firmly anchored in place by his left arm wrapped securely around her, drifting in and out of consciousness. Hop Sing and Jacob Cromwell, one of Ben’s most loyal and trusted ranch hands, were on hand to meet him.

“Jacob, is Mitch in the bunkhouse?” Ben asked as he carefully handed Stacy down to the waiting arms of Hop Sing.

“Yes, Sir,” Jacob nodded curtly.

“Ask HIM to look after Buck,” Ben ordered, as he quickly dismounted. “I’d like you to hitch up the buckboard and go back ‘n fetch Hoss, Teresa, and Hank. You’ll find them near that clump of trees, just past the bend in the road.”

“Yes, Sir.”

As Jacob led Buck to the barn, Ben took Stacy back from Hop Sing, and carried her into the house. Hop Sing followed anxiously at his heels.

“What happen to Miss Stacy?”

“I’ll explain later, Hop Sing,” Ben said tersely. “Right now, I need hot water, a little soap, and a wash cloth.”

Ben carried Stacy upstairs to her room, and carefully placed her down on top of her bed. She began to stir again as he set himself to the task of removing her boots

“Pa?”

“I’m right here, Stacy,” Ben said as he placed her boots on the floor, next to the bed. He drew up a chair alongside the bed and took her hand. “You warm enough?”

“Yeah . . . I think . . . . ”

“If you’re feeling chilly, I can put the quilt at the foot of your bed over you.”

Stacy slowly opened her eyes, one at a time, and glanced around at the four walls of her room in complete bewilderment.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“How’d I get here?”

“I brought you home on Buck. Don’t you remember?”

Stacy frowned, then shook her head. “No . . . . ” she yawned, “I don’t remember very much about . . . about coming home, Pa.”

“You WERE pretty much out if it, Young Woman,” Ben said quietly.

“I remember us leaving Ponderosa Plunge,” Stacy said slowly. “Hoss, me, Adam, and . . . . ” She yawned, “ . . . and Teresa. It was getting late. You know . . . you know how Hop Sing is about eating while it’s hot . . . . ” Her voice drifted away to silence. Her eyelids dropped like a pair of millstones in deep water, and her breathing fell into a slow, regular pattern.

Hop Sing entered the room balancing a bowl of steaming hot water in one hand. A clean washcloth and face towel were draped over his other arm, and in his hand, he carried a cake of soap. “Hop Sing bring hot water,” he announced quietly, as he made his way around to the other side of Stacy’s bed. He placed the bowl down on the night table beside the bed and dipped the washcloth in the water. “Let Miss Stacy sleep not good Mister Cartwright. She fall, maybe hit head. Maybe have . . . . ” he frowned trying to recall the English word he sought.

“Concussion?”

“Concussion! Miss Stacy maybe have concussion.” He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and began to gingerly wash the blood from Stacy’s cheek and hair.

Stacy stirred and groaned softly. “No! T-too hot,” she protested weakly, as she instinctively raised one hand to push the washcloth away.

Ben took both her hands in his and held them in a gentle, yet firm grip. “It’ll only be a few minutes, Young Woman. Hop Sing’s just cleaning you up a little.”

Stacy winced as Hop Sing began to cleanse the bullet wound on the side of her head.

Hop Sing passed Ben the face towel, then rose. “You dry, Mister Cartwright. Hop Sing take dirty water outside.”

“Alright, Hop Sing.” Ben accepted the proffered face towel and began to blot the side of her face gently. “As for YOU, Young Woman . . . how about sitting up a little more? Hop Sing’s right about keeping you awake.”

Stacy slowly eased herself up to half way between sitting up and lying down. “Pa, I . . . I feel kinda light headed.”

Ben immediately stacked both of her pillows one on top of the other. “That’s it, just lie back down . . . there! Is THAT a little better?”

“A little. Pa?”

“Yes?”

“What happened? I . . . I hurt all over.”

“You were starting to tell ME,” Ben said. “You, Adam, Teresa, and Hoss had just left Ponderosa Plunge. You didn’t want to be late for breakfast.”

“I remember! Hoss took us back to the main road. When we got there? Someone started shooting at us. The last thing I remember after that is Adam telling us to take cover. After that, everything’s hazy . . . . ” Suddenly, she gasped. Ben could see the color literally drain right out of her face and cheeks. “Pa . . . was I . . . . ?” Her voice died away to stunned silence.

“Hit?” Ben quietly filled in the blank. “Yes, but thank the Good Lord that bullet merely grazed the side of your head. I’m more concerned about possible injuries you many have suffered when you took that tumble off of Blaze Face.”

“I f-fell off of Blaze Face?”

Ben nodded. “I asked Joe and Candy to fetch Doc Martin back here to check you over, make sure you haven’t injured seriously.”

“Oh no!” she groaned, her voice breaking.

Ben saw very clearly that she was on the edge of tears. “Don’t worry, Stacy,” he smiled, and gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “You’re going to be just fine. I want Doc Martin to check you over as a precaution, that’s all.”

“I . . . I know I’m gonna be ok, Pa, . . . but will I be ok in three weeks?”

“Three weeks?!” Ben echoed, favoring his daughter with a bewildered frown. “What’s . . . in three weeks?”

“The Independence Day Race! I’m riding Sun Dancer!”

Heartened by her deep concern over her fitness to participate in the upcoming Independence Day Race, Ben’s smile broadened. “We’re going to have to see what Doc Martin has to say about that, Young Woman,” he said firmly.

Stacy lapsed into a sullen silence, mixed with a healthy dose of apprehension and concern. “Pa?” she ventured at length.

“What is it, Stacy?”

“If Doc Martin tells me I can’t ride Sun Dancer . . . I’ll . . . I’ll . . . so help me, I’ll hunt down whoever it was shooting at us and give ‘im a real big taste of his own medicine.”

“Uncle Ben? Stacy?”

Ben and Stacy both turned and saw Peggy standing in the open doorway. “Come on in, Peggy,” the latter invited. Ben quietly rose and drew up a chair next to Stacy’s bed. He invited her to sit down with a gesture.

“Thank you, Uncle Ben,” Peggy said gratefully, as she entered the room. She walked the short distance from the open door to the chair and sat down. “Are . . . are you ok, Stacy? I saw Uncle Ben carrying you into the house a little while ago.”

“I, uh . . . . had a little bit of a mishap when I was out riding with Hoss, Adam, and Teresa earlier,” Stacy said evasively.

“Did you just say something about someone . . . sh-shooting at you?”

“Well, uhh . . . yeah,” Stacy admitted reluctantly. “

“Oh m-my God . . . I . . . I hope it wasn’t--- Oh, Stacy, WAS it Brett?”

“No,” Ben shook his head and he carefully sat himself back down on the edge of Stacy’s bed.

“Thank God,” Peggy murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Peggy, it WAS your Aunt Lil,” Ben said quietly.

“Aunt Lil?” Peggy echoed, incredulous.

Ben nodded.

“What about my mother?”

“She was there, although I don’t think she was doing any shooting.”

Peggy shook her head. “Mother’d never shoot anybody. She’s scared to death of guns . . . and just about everything ELSE. Uncle Ben?”

“Yes, Peggy?”

“Where are they now? Aunt Lil and Mother?”

“Adam, Joe, and Candy took them to the Virginia City jail,” Ben said quietly. “I’m afraid one of the charges against Lil is going to be attempted murder.”

“I’ve always known Aunt Lil was a hard woman, capable of a lot of terrible, underhanded things,” Peggy said apologetically. “But I never dreamed she could actually be capable of murder. Oh, Stacy, I . . . I’m s-so- sorry . . . . ”

“Peggy, it’s not YOUR fault,” Stacy said earnestly.

“Excuse me!” Peggy rose and fled from the room, leaving Ben and Stacy staring after her, helplessly.

“I’m sorry, Pa, I . . . I didn’t WANT to tell her . . . . ”

“YOU didn’t. I’M the one who told her.”

This drew a puzzled, bewildered look from Stacy.

“I told Peggy because the truth has its own way of making itself known,” Ben said quietly, answering the why question unspoken, yet still posed by the look on Stacy’s face. “It’s usually a lot easier in the long run to be up front and honest right from the start.”

“Even times like now?”

“ESPECIALLY times like now.”

Downstairs, the front door opened, then closed. Ben and Stacy exchanged apprehensive glances.

“PA?!” It was Hoss.

Ben exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief, and with it a heartfelt prayer of thanks. “UP HERE, SON!” he yelled back.

Hoss and Teresa appeared a few moments later. “I’m glad t’ see you’re lookin’ none t’ worse f’r wear, Li’l Sister,” the former said smiling. “How’re y’ feelin’?”

“My whole body still hurts,” Stacy replied, “and I’ve got a real humdinger of a headache, but I’m not feeling sleepy anymore . . . . ”

“I think she’s too worried right now to sleep,” Ben said, trying his best not to smile.

“Oh? What about?” Teresa asked, favoring Stacy with a bemused look.

“That Doc Martin’s going to tell her she can’t ride Sun Dancer in the Independence Day Race this year,” Ben said.

“If he does, Li’l Sister, it ain’t the end of the world,” Hoss said. “There’s always NEXT year.”

“I know, but that’s a WHOLE YEAR away,” Stacy said dejectedly.

“Ben, is Peggy in her room?” Teresa asked quietly.

“Yes, I was getting ready to go look in on her, when you and Hoss came in,” Ben said regretfully. “Teresa, she . . . knows . . . all about Lil Manfred shooting at you earlier, and I’m afraid it’s upset her terribly.”

“I’ll see to Peggy,” Teresa promised. “You stay here with Hoss and Stacy.”

“If there’s anything I can do . . . . ”

“I’ll let you know, Ben,” she promised.

Teresa went back down stairs, and a few moments later, found herself standing before the closed door of the guest room down on the first floor. She knocked.

No answer.

Teresa knocked again. “Peggy?”

“Yes?” a small voice answered from within.

“Peggy, it’s Teresa. May I come in?”

“If you want to,” came the indifferent reply.

Teresa opened the door and stepped inside. She found Peggy lying down on the bed, with her back to the door. Teresa walked over to the bed and carefully seated herself on the edge. “Peggy . . . . ” she reached out and gently touched the younger woman’s shoulder.

Peggy turned. Teresa knew from the red cheeks, standing out in stark contrast against a pallid face, the red swollen eyelids, and the unusual brightness of her eyes, that Peggy had just now been crying. “Teresa, I . . . I c-can’t stay here,” she sobbed. “N-not now, not after . . . after wh-what happened to Stacy . . . and the r-rest of you.”

“Peggy, you’re NOT to blame for what happened this morning,” Teresa said in a brisk, firm, no nonsense tone of voice. She frowned. “Surely Stacy didn’t accuse you . . . . ”

“No! She even went so far as to tell me it wasn’t my fault, but . . . it IS, Teresa. It IS! If I wasn’t here, my aunt wouldn’t have been out on the road this morning taking pot shots at you.”

“You’re not responsible for your aunt’s actions.”

“Aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not.”

Peggy exhaled a short, curt frustrated sigh. “I should NEVER have come here.”

“You did the absolute right thing in coming here, Peggy. That night you left, you knew you had friends here, who would be more than willing to help you. We . . . all of us . . . still want to help you.”

“You could get killed.”

“If you left here, where would you go?”

“Back,” Peggy replied in a stone cold monotone.

“You surely don’t mean back to Brett.”

“It was a mistake to have left in the first place.”

Teresa closed her eyes and forced herself to take slow, deep even breaths. “Peggy, what about your baby?”

“I told Adam yesterday. If I go back now, Brett will treat me like an absolute queen,” Peggy explained. “He won’t be able to apologize enough. He’ll be kind and attentive. I know . . . it doesn’t last, but . . . his business surely must be close to winding up. It HAS to be. Mister van Slyke, Brett’s father, promised me we wouldn’t be here for any longer than a month. That month is almost up.”

“Peggy . . . . ”

Peggy, her face set with a grim, fatalistic resignation, held up her hand. “No, Teresa, let me finish.”

“All right,” Teresa agreed through clenched teeth.

“I figure Brett’s nice period, as I call it, should last until we get back to San Francisco,” she continued. “After we get back, I . . . I can ask my father-in-law to help me.”

“Peggy, do you know anything the nature of the business that brought Brett to Placerville? Anything at ALL?!”

“Mister van Slyke told me that there was some trouble back home in San Francisco, and that Brett’s name had come up in connection with it,” Peggy said. “He has property outside of Placerville. He told me it would be best if Brett looked after business matters here, while he took care of things back home.”

“You don’t know any details about the trouble back home?”

“That’s all Mister van Slyke told me. That Brett’s name had come up in connection with . . . some kind of trouble, and it would be best if Brett left town for a little while.” Peggy sighed, then added bitterly, “I’m pretty sure it had to do with another woman. ALL of Brett’s troubles have to do with another woman!”

“What business matters did Mister van Slyke want Brett to look into while he was in Placerville?”

“I don’t know.”

Teresa looked over at Peggy askance.

“Neither Brett nor his father have ever discussed business matters with me.”

“Did you ever ask?”

“Yes, when Brett and I were first married. Mister van Slyke told me they never discussed business matters with women.”

“Not even their wives?”

“No.”

“Is the name Rosemary O’Malley familiar to you?”

Peggy shook her head. “No. Why should it be? And why are you asking me all these questions?”

“I’ll be right back.” Teresa rose and walked out to Ben’s desk. She yanked open the bottom drawer, on the right, the force of her movements nearly pulling the drawer out completely. Looking inside, she immediately located and pulled out a large, unsealed envelope labeled “van Slyke” in Ben’s strong, unmistakable hand, before slamming the drawer shut.

She returned to the guest room, her scowl dark as the clouds of an approaching thunderstorm. “Here!” she tossed the envelope down on the bed in front of Peggy. “Inside are clippings from what I assume to be from a newspaper in San Francisco. They’ll shed some light on the exact nature of the ‘business’ that brought Brett to Placerville.” She paused. “After you’ve read them, Peggy, let’s see if you’re still of a mind to go back to Brett.” With that, she angrily left the room.

A knock on the front door stopped Teresa in her tracks, mid-stride. She walked over to the door, pausing to gingerly remove Ben’s gun from its holster. It had been a few years since she had last indulged in any target practice, but she still knew how to use the weapon in her hand. She hoped and prayed she would find the inner wherewithal to do so, should circumstances prove necessary.

The caller without knocked again.

“Who is it?” Teresa asked in as steady a voice as she could muster.

“Doctor Paul Martin.”

Teresa heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief as she returned Ben’s gun to its holster. She opened the door, and stood aside gesturing for the sawbones to enter. “Come in, Doctor. Stacy’s upstairs.”

“Thank you, Teresa.”

Teresa dutifully escorted the doctor upstairs, where Ben and Hoss still remained.

“Paul, come in,” Ben invited rising. “We’re pretty sure Stacy wasn’t seriously injured . . . . ”

“Ben, I’M the doctor here, I’LL make that determination,” Paul said sternly. “Now why don’t you and Hoss g’won and wait downstairs. Teresa?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“I’d like YOU to remain, if you would. In case I need assistance.”

“Certainly.”

“I’ll be up a little later to check up on you, Stacy,” Ben promised.

“OK, Pa.”

Ben gave his daughter a reassuring smile and gentle squeeze of the hand before leaving the room with Hoss. Father and son silently walked down the steps, single file, the former leading.

“May as well see if I can get LAST month’s figures to finally balance,” Ben murmured as he turned at the bottom of the steps and walked over toward his desk.

Hoss reluctantly followed, while silently praying with each step that Doc Martin’s examination would move along swiftly. He quietly pulled up a chair alongside the desk, while his father began to add the expenditure column yet again.

An uneasy silence reigned.

The door of the guest room opened. Hoss glanced up, favoring Peggy with a warm, reassuring smile, as she ventured hesitantly out into the great room. He waved her over, while, at the same time putting his first finger to his lips.

“DAMN!” The expletive exploded from Ben’s lips, shattering the tense silence that had settled over them. Both Peggy and Hoss jumped as Ben threw the pencil in hand across the desk in angry frustration.

Peggy’s involuntary cry of alarm caused Ben’s head to snap up. As his eyes met Peggy’s, now round with wary apprehension, his anger and frustration underwent a swift and immediate transformation to remorse. “Peggy, I . . . I’m sorry,” he stammered out an apology, as he stepped from around the desk. “I should know better than to try adding figures when I’m worried about someone . . . . ”

“Stacy?”

“Yes.”

“That was quite a spill she took fallin’ off Blaze Face,” Hoss agreed, “but I think I’m MORE worried about what’s gonna happen if Doc Martin says she can’t ride in that race comin’ up in three weeks.”

Ben rolled his eyes heavenward. “I don’t want to even THINK about THAT,” he said soberly. He, then, turned and gave Peggy a warm, reassuring. “Peggy, why don’t you come on over and join us. No more adding columns, I promise.”

“Uncle Ben . . . would you mind if I had a look?”

Ben pondered for a moment, then shrugged. “Why not?” he decided as he and Peggy walked over toward the desk. “Sure can’t hurt.”

“I like playing with numbers,” she said, taking the chair behind the desk. “When Aunt Lil found THAT out, she made me her bookkeeper, telling me it was high time one of us Daytons made herself useful. I enjoyed doing it.” She lapsed into silence as began to add the long column of figures.

Ben and Hoss both watched anxiously over her shoulder. Peggy finished adding the numbers in short order, then compared her total to Ben’s.

“Well, that now makes NINE times that column’s been added, with NINE different totals to show for it,” Ben said feeling a surge of perverse satisfaction.

Peggy picked up the slip of paper with Ben’s grand total number eight and compared it with her own. She mentally subtracted Ben’s from hers. “I come up with a difference of eighty-one dollars,” she said slowly. “That means one of us has probably transposed something.”

Ben frowned. “How do you know THAT?”

“The difference . . . eighty-one dollars, is divisible by nine. Uncle Ben?”

“Yes?”

“Did you add the figures in your head or on paper to get this total?”

“By the time I arrived at THAT figure, I was writing it out on paper,” Ben said ruefully. “You’ll probably find it in the trash can over there, on your right.”

“I’ll find it,” Hoss said. He picked up the small trash can, and after a few moments rummaging, found the paper with Ben’s addition. “Here y’ are, Peggy.”

She accepted the paper from Hoss. Lying it on the desk next to the sheet with her own addition, she glanced down both columns very carefully. “Here it is, Uncle Ben,” Peggy said, pointing to a figure just past the center on both sheets. “I show this as three hundred and nine dollars, you show it as three hundred ninety.” She immediately checked the ledger itself. “You have three hundred nine dollars entered here . . . uhh, where do you keep the receipts?”

Ben leaned over and grabbed the pile sitting at the edge of the desk, directly in front of the place where Peggy sat. She nodded her thanks as he set the pile directly in front of her. “According to the receipt, that figure’s three hundred and nine dollars.” She looked up at Ben with a satisfied smile. “Your expenditures balance, Uncle Ben.”

“Well, I’ll be dadburned! Peggy, you’re a genius!” Hoss proclaimed, awestruck.

Even Ben couldn’t help smiling. “Peggy, if you’d like to take a crack at the income, you’re more than welcome. I haven’t even started on that.”

“Sure!” Peggy readily agreed. “I’ll start on it right after supper.”

“That’ll be fine!”

“It sure will!” Hoss voiced his own heartfelt agreement. “I can live with Pa tryin’ to make those dadburned ledgers balance, OR I can live with Li’l Sister upstairs bein’ told she can’t be in that race in three weeks. But, I sure as shootin’ can’t stomach the idea of livin’ with BOTH.”

“Oh come on, Hoss . . . I’m not THAT bad . . . am I?”

“Pa, y’ taught us, all four o’ us t’ tell the truth no matter what, right?”

“Of course.”

“Pa? Y’ ARE that bad . . . maybe even WORSE.”

“Uncle Ben?”

He turned his attention to Peggy, still seated at the desk, hoping against hope for a change of subject. “Yes, Peggy?”

“Speaking of Stacy . . . is she going to be alright?”

“As you probably know, Doctor Martin’s with her now, but I expect good news,” Ben said quietly. “I asked him to check her over as more of a precautionary measure than anything else.”

“Thank goodness . . . that she’s going to be alright, I mean.”

“Peggy, I want YOU to know that what happened out there with Lil is NOT your fault,” Ben’s voice was very quiet, and firm as granite with conviction. “LIL’S the one who decided to take pot shots at Hoss, Stacy, Adam, and Teresa, NOT you.”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” Peggy said ruefully.

“ . . . and so everyone’s going to keep on telling you until you get it through your head,” Ben said gently.

“I . . . I know you have to press charges against Aunt Lil, but what about Mother? What’s going to happen to HER?”

“Laura . . . your mother . . . wasn’t doing any of the shooting,” Ben said. “She didn’t even have a rifle. The worst that COULD happen is that she might be charged as an accessory to what Lil did.”

“Peggy, I’M not inclined t’ press any charges against your ma,” Hoss spoke up for the first time. “Pa, I hope that doesn’t getcha upset with me . . . . ”

“Not at all, Hoss.” Ben shook his head, not surprised. This gentle giant he was privileged to call son couldn’t carry a grudge in a bucket.

“I can’t speak f’r Stacy, Adam, ‘n Teresa . . . . ” An amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “except t’ say that Li’l Sister upstairs might go after your Aunt Lil herself with a pot full o’ tar ‘n a sack full o’ feathers if Doc Martin tells her she can’t ride in that race in three weeks.”

“I’m beginning to think someone SHOULD’VE tarred and feathered Aunt Lil years ago,” Peggy said. The thought prompted a bare hint of a smile.

“The way she was the other day, all the stuff she’s done to you AND your ma, now this business o’ shootin’ at us . . . . ” Hoss shook his head. “Well, it seems t’ me, she’s turned just plain ol’ mean somewhere along t’ way. But your ma ain’t like that, not if she’s still the way I remember her.”

“She is, pretty much,” Peggy said in a small, sad voice.

“I know your ma had her problems, Peggy, but I also know she didn’t have one single mean bone in her whole body.”

“I know. That’s why . . . even with everything that’s happened, everything she may have done or not done, I could never, ever bring myself to hate her,” Peggy said ruefully. “I think I feel sorry for her more than anything else.”

“Ben?” It was Paul Martin, standing near the bottom of the stairs.

Hoss rose from the chair he occupied. He, Ben, and Peggy all turned their attention to Doctor Martin.

Paul walked over, with his black bag in hand, and stood in front of the desk, where Peggy sat. Ben walked around to meet him. “That daughter of yours is very lucky, Ben. Fortunately, that bullet brand must’ve knocked her out, so when she fell off her horse, her body was limp when she hit the ground. Had she been conscious, she would’ve tensed more ‘n likely, which could’ve contributed to some potentially serious injuries.”

“Doc, if Stacy’d been conscious, she wouldn’t have fallen off blaze Face at all,” Hoss said quietly.

“I won’t argue with you, Hoss,” Paul said. “In any case, she didn’t break anything, she can walk just fine. She’s got a lump on the back of her head the size of a hen’s egg . . . probably from hitting a rock or the ground. As for the bullet brand, fortunately, it was only a superficial wound. I washed the wound again, applied a salve, then bandaged it. Other than that, Stacy’s going to have some nasty looking bruises for the better part of a week or so, AND she’s going to be plenty stiff ‘n sore.”

“That last might not be such a bad thing, if ya think about it, Doc,” Hoss said affably. “If Li’l Sister up there’s feelin’ stiff ‘n sore, she just might be inclined t’ sit still long enough t’ get herself better.”

“You said it, Hoss, I didn’t.” Paul’s wry tone gave strong indication that he had at least given thought to what Hoss had just voiced. “Ben, would you mind seeing me out? I have a few instructions.”

“Sure, Paul,” Ben agreed. After exhorting Hoss and Peggy to sit still, he quietly followed the doctor out to his buggy.

Paul opened his bag and drew out a tube of salve. “I want you to change Stacy’s bandage twice a day, when she gets up in the morning and at suppertime would be good,” he said, all business. “When you change the bandage, apply this generously to the wound.”

Ben nodded as he took the tube of salve from the doctor.

Paul imparted the remainder of his instructions. “Any questions?”

“One. The Independence Day Race is coming up in three weeks, as you know . . . . ”

Paul nodded and smiled. “You want to know if Stacy can ride that big palomino.”

“Yes.”

“I want to see her again in about a week, Ben, just to make certain everything’s alright. I’ll give you an answer then.”

“Thanks a lot, Paul. To say that a whole week of not knowing’s going to try her patience is the understatement of the year.”

“WHAT patience?”

Ben smiled. “You have a point.”

“Don’t be so smug, Ben. I’ve known you to be even worse than Stacy is,” Paul retorted with mock severity. “Also . . . you MIGHT tell that hard headed young woman upstairs that if she does what I tell her, she’ll stand a better chance of my telling her she can ride in that race in three weeks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Ben . . . . ”

“What is it, Paul?” he queried, picking up on the doctor’s change in demeanor.

“I heard from Doctor Phillips in San Francisco this morning.”

“And?”

“I wish I had as good news about this as I did about Stacy,” Paul said somberly. “According to this Doctor Phillips, it seems Peggy’s father-in-law called for a hearing to determine whether or not she’s mentally competent.”

Stunned by this revelation, all Ben could do was stare over at Paul, dumbfounded.

“Ben, the judge found Peggy to be mentally incompetent,” Paul said grimly. “Her husband was granted full custody.”

“WHAT?” Ben roared the minute he found his voice. “Paul, she’s no more insane than . . . than you and I are!”

“I agree with you one hundred percent.”

“I . . . I don’t understand this! How could they possibly hold such a hearing without Peggy even being there to defend herself?”

“Money talks, Ben, and from what little I’ve heard, the van Slyke family has enough to do a powerful lot of talking.”

“Especially in San Francisco,” Ben said through clenched teeth.  
“Fortunately, for Peggy, WE’RE not in San Francisco.”

“What are you going to do, Ben?”

“Two things. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to ride into town and talk with Lucas.”

“I’ll see that he gets Doctor Phillips’ telegram when I return. What’s the second thing you’re going to do?”

“The second thing I’m going to do is turn Peggy over to that monster, Brett van Slyke, when hell freezes over.”

That night Ben lay in bed, flat on his back, staring up toward the ceiling. The relentless tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock of the clock hanging on the wall opposite his bed sounded for all the world like Sam Hill striking his anvil. Just as loud, just as strident. He heard the grandfather clock downstairs strike midnight, then one, followed by two . . . .

Ben sat up, and angrily threw aside the covers. He stood and felt for the bathrobe he kept hanging on the post at the head of his bed. The instant his fingers touched it, he snatched it up with a broad sweep of his arm, slipped it on.

At the top landing, Ben paused, noting the telltale flicker of lamplight that seemed to emanate from over next to the fireplace. He slowly, cautiously made his way down the stairs.

“Good evening, Pa. Or perhaps I should say good morning.” It was Adam, similarly attired in nightshirt and robe. He sat on the middle of the settee, with a glass of brandy on the coffee table in front of him, untouched by all appearances. “You couldn’t sleep either, I see . . . . ”

Ben shook his head. “I got tired of lying in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the clock down here striking every quarter hour. I thought maybe a glass of brandy might help.”

Adam picked up the full glass in front of him and offered it to his father. “Here. Be my guest.”

“That’s alright, I can get my own glass.”

“Suit yourself. The two I’ve already had haven’t helped . . . as you can see.”

Ben walked over and sat down on the red chair. “Peggy took this latest bit of bad news better than I though she would, given how upset she was when she found out Lil Manfred was the one shooting at the four of you,” he remarked casually.

“Teresa told me that Peggy was pretty adamant about going back, after what happened this morning,” Adam said somberly. “Peggy and I had pretty much the same conversation early yesterday morning, but . . . I thought I had convinced her otherwise.”

“Those articles from San Francisco gave Peggy pause at any rate.”

Adam nodded. A mirthless half smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Peggy’s insistence on going back to Brett must have been a bit more than my loving wife could stomach. Teresa and I had initially agreed we weren’t going to show Peggy those articles, unless we absolutely had to.”

“Teresa must’ve felt she absolutely had to.”

“At any rate, with this latest development, Peggy knows now that there’s no going back. The only thing she CAN do now is fight it out.”

“Yeah.”

“So. What’re we going to do, Pa?”

“I’m riding into town first thing in the morning to see Lucas. Do you want to come along?”

“Yes, just so long we have enough men here to protect Peggy while you and I are gone.

“I’ll ask Hoss and Joe to keep close to home while we’re gone. Jacob Cromwell and half dozen of the men are out checking the fences on the north pastures. The rest are out in the bunkhouse. I think, for the next few days at least, we can find plenty of work for ‘em to do close by.”

The two men lapsed into silence for a time, each wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“Adam?” Ben broke the silence a few moments after the grandfather clock chimed the quarter before the hour of three.

“Yeah, Pa?”

“Are you going to press charges against Laura?”

“I don’t know,” Adam shrugged. “I’ve been turning that question over and over in my mind . . . ever since Joe and I left Sheriff Coffee’s office yesterday morning. I’m no closer to a satisfactory answer NOW than I was then.”

“When Joe and I came upon them, Lil was the one holding the rifle,” Ben said quietly. “Laura . . . . ” He sighed and shook his head. “She was just sitting there on a fallen log, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring up at me like a lost, frightened child.”

“She’s always been a lost, frightened child . . . in one way or another. Right after Frank died, I wanted to take her in, protect and shelter her . . . see to it that nothing bad ever happened to her . . . or to Peggy . . . ever again.”

“I think a lot of people felt that way toward Laura, Adam.”

“But, most people weren’t in position to ACT on it, as I was,” Adam said contritely. “Frank wasn’t even cold in the grave before I stepped in, started advising her on financial and business matters, giving orders to her ranch hands, firing her foreman, telling her how to raise Peggy . . . . ”

“As I recall, Laura ASKED for your advice regarding business and financial matters, her ranch hands were for all intents and purposes getting paid to sit around, drink, and play cards all day, and her foreman refused to follow through on the few orders she DID give. You were ALSO concerned . . . and rightly so . . . about the fact that Laura hadn’t at that time told Peggy her father was dead,” Ben adroitly recited the litany.

“If I had REALLY been as smart as I thought I was, I wouldn’t have interfered, Pa. I would’ve forced Laura to stand on her own two feet. Both she AND Peggy would have been a lot better off right now if I had.”

“Hind sight is often far clearer than foresight, but not in this case.”

Adam glanced over at his father sharply.

“If YOU hadn’t stepped in, someone else WOULD have.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“A woman, and a man, too, for that matter, needs a certain core of inner strength in order to pull themselves up and stand on their own two feet. Call it gut instinct, but I don’t think Laura ever had that kind of inner resource . . . not then and certainly not now,” Ben said somberly. “If YOU hadn’t stepped in, Laura would have turned to someone else. And that someone else may have been unscrupulous enough to take advantage of her.”

“As Lil has,” Adam said with a touch of bitterness.

“Yes, but I’m sure Laura has equally taken advantage of her aunt, too, over the years.”

“I know. I can see how that would be. I think what really galls me is that Peggy’s the one suffering all the consequences.”

“We’re going to find a way, Son, to free Peggy from her husband and his family, once and for all,” Ben said with quiet conviction. “I can’t tell you right now, how that’s all going to work out, but I do know this. Peggy DOES have that inner core of strength to fight, not only for herself, but for her baby.”

“Yes, Pa. I know that.”

“The only problem is . . . PEGGY needs to know that.”

Lark Meredith rose shortly before sunrise, dreading the horrendous day that lay ahead. As of late last night, he had gone down to the desk and checked one last time before finally retiring at shortly past one in the morning. There had been no further word from Horace van Slyke. He had used money from his own pocket to purchase that one way ticket to Carson City for Mrs. Dressler, then sent a messenger to their home instructing them to pick up the ticket at the Overland Stage Office.

Lark had also withdrawn all that remained of his own personal savings and left it at the Overland Stage office, sealed in an envelope with Cameron Dressler’s name hastily scrawled on the front. There was also a note inside instructing the lodge caretaker to purchase the necessary supplies, enough staples to see them through until Horace van Slyke released the funds deposited in the bank here in Placerville.

Last night, Brett van Slyke had thrown a royal fit to end all fits along with everything else he could lay his hands on, when Lark told him of the plans to relocate to the lodge. The screaming, the obscenities, the unholy ruckus brought Nathan Jamison to the door in very short order . . . .

“MISTER MEREDITH, THIS IS FAR WORSE THAN ANY OF THE PREVIOUS INCIDENTS,” Nathan had to shout at the top of his lungs in order to be heard. “I WANT MISTER VAN SLYKE AND EVERYONE ELSE IN HIS PARTY OUT OF HERE IMMEDIATELY.”

Lark stepped out into the hallway, and closed the door firmly behind him, leaving Hoyt to deal with the rampaging younger van Slyke. “We have an agreement, Mister Jamison,” he tersely reminded the manager. “Check out is tomorrow morning at eleven sharp. We are not budging until then.”

“You have fifteen minutes to quiet Mister van Slyke down,” Jamison countered in a cold, angry tone. “In SIXTEEN minutes, I send someone to fetch the sheriff, and THIS time, I can assure you, charges WILL be pressed. Do I make myself clear, Mister Meredith?”

“As glass,” Lark snapped.

It took the better part of the next half hour to finally quiet the raging young man. True to his promise, Nathan Jamison sent for the sheriff sixteen minutes later. He reappeared at the door to Brett van Slyke’s room, his face a veritable black thundercloud of fury, with the lawman in tow.

“SHERIFF, I DEMAND THAT YOU ARREST THAT MAN!” Nathan screamed at the top of his voice.

“WHAT’S THE CHARGE?”

“WILLFUL DESTRUCTION OF PRIVATE PROPERTY, DISTURBING THE PEACE, ASSAULT AND BATTERY . . . . ”

Again, Lark had left his employer’s son to the tender mercies of Hoyt Pyle, in order to deal with the hotel manager and the sheriff.

“Sheriff, Mister van Slyke is going through a horrendously difficult time,” Lark pointedly ignored Nathan Jamison. “His pregnant wife was been missing since the night of his birthday party, his father in San Francisco is ailing . . . . ”

“From what I saw of that room the night before Mrs. van Slyke’s disappearance, she was probably murdered by her husband and her body dumped into the waters of Lake Tahoe,” Nathan said, his voice dripping with acid sarcasm.

“One more remark like that, Mister Jamison, and so help me, I’ll haul your sorry ass into court and sue you for slander,” Lark rounded on the small, wiry man, furiously.

“Mister Meredith’s right,” the sheriff said blandly. “Remarks like that ain’t helpful.”

This drew an icy, withering glare from the hotel manager.

“Tell ya what,” the sheriff drawled. “I’ll go through, make note of all damages AND lost business due to the fracas, then I’ll sit down with Mister Jamison here and figure up how much it’ll cost t’ fix or replace. Seein’ as how Mister van Slyke’s understandably distraught, with his wife still missin’, he’s free t’ go, IF he pays the damages, and for any lost business. Is that fair ‘nuff?”

“I suppose it’ll HAVE to do,” Nathan said, taking no pains to conceal his anger and his disdain.

“Alright, then s’pose we go ‘n see . . . . ” The sheriff reached out to open the door to Brett van Slyke’s room.

The door opened just enough for Hoyt Pyle to stick his head through, before the sheriff could so much as touch the doorknob. His hair was mussed, and his face white as a sheet. A rivulet of blood poured freely from a cut on the lower lip. “Mister Meredith, I . . . I can’t manage him. Y’ gotta get a sawbones to knock him out, quick!”

“I’ll go,” the sheriff grunted.

The local doctor came and heavily sedated the raging young man. It took the combined efforts of Lark Meredith, Hoyt Pyle, Nathan Jamison, a bellhop, and three big, strapping men, who happened to be guests, to hold Brett van Slyke down.

Nathan Jamison, his jacket torn, and his tie missing, turned and favored Lark Meredith with a look meant to kill. “Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, Mister Meredith,” he said in a low, quiet voice that sent a shiver racing down the length of Lark’s spine. “Not one second longer . . . . ”

Lark quickly washed, shaved, and dressed. He thought for a moment of running down to the hotel restaurant for a bite of breakfast, then decided against it. The sooner Brett van Slyke was moved to his new lodging and secured there, the better for all concerned. He quickly packed up his razor, cup, and shaving soap, and set his luggage, a single, well worn carpet bag next to the door. Grabbing his off-white hat from its place on the dresser, he left the room and made his way down stairs to the front desk, hoping that a telegram from San Francisco waited.

“Sorry, Mister Meredith,” the hotel clerk, a middle aged gentlemen by the name of Morty Convers shook his head. “No messages in your box.”

“Thank you, Mister Convers,” Lark sighed.

“I understand Mister van Slyke is checking out this morning.” The man’s face and tone were carefully neutral.

“Yes. Mister van Slyke decided to take time off and do some fishing,” Lark lied. “We’re headed for the lodge.”

“Any word as to the whereabouts of MRS. van Slyke?”

“I have reason to believe that she’s visiting with friends. She’ll be joining her husband at the lodge in a few days.”

“I will begin preparing your bill now, Mister Meredith. It will be ready when Mister van Slyke comes down to check out.”

Lark nodded curtly, then trudged back upstairs to the room, occupied by Brett van Slyke. He paused outside the closed door, and knocked.

“Come in, Meredith.”

Lark was mildly surprised to hear Brett’s voice. He opened the door and stepped inside. His employer’s son was up, and very nattily dressed in a gray linen three piece summer suit. “I’m almost ready,” Brett said as he ran a brush through his thick, wavy hair.

“Where’s Mister Pyle?” Lark asked warily. The big caretaker was nowhere to be seen.

“I sent him to the bank with a draft,” Brett replied.

“Y-you sent him . . . t-to the bank?” Lark echoed, stunned. “You can’t cash a bank draft without your father’s ok . . . . ”

“I’ve got Father’s permission to withdraw funds. He sent his ok to loosen up the money bags at the bank in a telegram this morning.”

Lark felt as though he had just taken a hard blow to his solar plexus.

Brett reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, removed a folded piece of paper and carelessly tossed it down on the bed. “Read for yourself.”

Lark picked up the paper and slowly unfolded it:

“Brett [stop]

Releasing funds at First Mercantile [stop] Use what you need [stop] Second wire following [stop] Present to Horace McGreevy at bank [stop]

Hearing on mental competency of wife held [stop] Declared mentally incompetent [stop] Placed in your custody [stop]

Wire on arrival in Virginia City [stop]

Father [stop; end of message]”

Lark lowered the telegram with trembling hand, his face pale and eyes round with horror. “V-Virginia City? We’re n-not going to Virginia . . . City?”

Brett’s lips slowly curved upward, forming a malevolent smile, as he turned from the mirror over his dresser. “Oh. Didn’t I tell you, Meredith? There’s been a change of plans. We’re not going to that damned lodge stuck out in the middle of nowhere. We . . . ARE . . . going to Virginia City.”

“Now look here . . . . ”

The smile faded into a glare of venomous, bitter hatred. “No, Meredith, YOU look here. We’re going to Virginia City so’s I can fetch back my pretty Peggy, all nice ‘n legal.”

“Mister van Slyke, I said we were going to do this MY way,” Lark said, his jaw tightening with anger and apprehension.

“I gave you three days to do it YOUR way, Meredith. As of this morning, we do it MY way.”

Lark blanched. “N-no, don’t . . . n-not like that . . . . ”

“I said we’re fetching MY wife back . . . MY way,” Brett maintained with a grim, stubborn determination.

“You don’t have to do it THAT way. Didn’t you read this telegram? She’s been placed in YOUR custody! You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh! There’s something else I forgot t’ tell you, Meredith.” He reached into his pocket and whipped out a small pistol. “You’re fired.” With that, he squeezed the trigger.

Lark Meredith’s face contorted with agony as the bullet from Brett’s pistol ripped into his abdomen. He collapsed to the floor, his arms wrapped protectively around his wound, now bleeding profusely. Brett noiselessly dropped to his knees beside Lark and removed the latter’s pistol from its holster. Rising to his feet, he fired toward the outside wall, then removed the remaining ammunition.

“Brett . . . p-lease . . . don’t d-do this. G-go to the sh-sheriff, please. Sh-show him your papers . . . he’ll h-have to . . . have t-to help you . . . . ”

“I don’t need no sheriff or no damn papers,” Brett said coldly as he tossed Lark’s gun down on the floor within reach, “and I sure as hell don’t need YOU.”

A loud, frantic pounding on the door drew a sharp glance from Brett. “Who is it?”

“Hoyt Pyle, Mister van Slyke.”

“Come in.”

Hoyt opened the door and walked in. “I have the money you--- ” He abruptly stopped mid-sentence, upon seeing Lark Meredith lying on the floor, ominously still, blood flowing freely up under the hand clutching the wound.

“Get the sheriff, Pyle,” Brett said quietly, as he held out his hand for the money.

Hoyt handed over the cash. “Wh-what happened, Sir? Are you alright?”

“Meredith and I got into a . . . disagreement over our travel plans for today. He pulled a gun and fired. I fired back. I had no choice.”

Another knock on the door, loud and insistent, drew Hoyt’s attention from Brett and Lark.

“Yes? Who is it?”

“Mister van Slyke, I am Mister Jamison, hotel manager. I have the sheriff with me.”

“N-no . . . lying! H-he’s . . . lying,” Lark protested, his feebleness increasing.

Brett delivered a hard, swift kick to the small of Lark’s back. The wounded man gasped. A soft gurgle issued from somewhere deep in his throat, an instant before he lost consciousness.

“Let them in, Pyle.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Lark Meredith, who incredibly remained alive though unconscious, was carried down to the doctor’s office a block away by the deputy and three strong bell hops from the hotel.

“Sheriff, I want Mister Meredith to receive the best medical care possible,” Brett said earnestly. “You may instruct the doc to send his bills to my attention at the International Hotel in Virginia City. I’ll be THERE for the next two or three days.”

“That’s very magnanimous of you, Mister van Slyke, seein’ as t’ how Mister Meredith tried to KILL you,” the sheriff drawled.

Brett van Slyke frowned, and slowly drew his fingers one by one into a pair of tight, rock hard fists.

“Mister Meredith HAS been under a terrible strain for quite awhile, Sheriff,” Hoyt Pyle immediately stepped in. “Compulsive poker player, has been for years. Doesn’t know when to stop, if you know what I mean?”

The sheriff nodded. “I know whatcha mean all too well, Mister Pyle.”

“The van Slyke family had been covering his debts whenever Mister Meredith got in over his head, which, I’m ashamed to say was quite often,” Hoyt continued in a smooth tone, dropping his voice slightly to a confidential decibel. “About three, maybe four months before Mister van Slyke and his wife arrived in Placerville, his father, the ELDER Mister van Slyke sent Mister Meredith a letter, I think it was actually from a lawyer, telling him that the van Slykes would no longer bail him out of his poker debts.”

“I see,” the sheriff murmured thoughtfully.

“Mister Meredith apparently disregarded the letter from Mister van Slyke’s father,” Hoyt continued with just enough wistfulness. He sighed softly, and shook his head. “A bit more than a month ago, the elder Mister van Slyke got a letter from the bank, where he keeps his deposits, informing him of discrepancies in totals. He sent his son to come here ‘n check things out.”

Brett favored Hoyt with a bright smile, filled with sunshine. “I found out Mister Meredith had been embezzling funds from my father’s account,” he himself took up the tale. “I confronted him the night of my birthday party. I’m afraid things got pretty hot ‘n heavy. I apologize for that sheriff.”

“You paid for the damages,” the sheriff grunted. “Any word as to the whereabouts of Mrs. van Slyke?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Brett said, his warm smile a stark contrast against the stiff, rigid way he held his body, with arms poker straight at his side, and fists still clenched. “An associate of mine over Virginia City way . . . you may know him, Sheriff, seems everyone ‘round here does . . . . ”

“What’s his name?”

“Cartwright. Mister Benjamin Cartwright.”

“Ponderosa?”

“Yeah.” Brett nodded. “You know him?”

“I know OF him,” the sheriff replied. “Like you just said yourself, Mister Cartwright’s pretty well known ‘round this neck of the woods.”

“Well, it turns out that my wife and mother-in-law knew the Cartwrights very well, when they lived near Virginia City many years ago,” Brett said. “Mister Cartwright wired me just this morning to let me know that Peggy’s with THEM . . . safe ‘n sound.”

“Too bad Mister Cartwright didn’t think to wire you before this,” the sheriff remarked with a touch of sarcasm.

“Sheriff, as you know, my wife’s . . . well, in the family way,” Brett said, his smile rapidly fading. “She lost two babies . . . miscarriages, both of ‘em . . . and unfortunately it’s left her quite unbalanced. I should never have brought her here, Sheriff. I regret having done so with . . . with every fiber of my being. I just thought, hoped, maybe a change of scene, new faces might restore her equilibrium. I was very sadly mistaken.”

“You meant well, Mister van Slyke,” the sheriff said quietly.

“Since Peggy’s been pregnant again . . . . ” Brett let his voice trail ominously into silence. “I don’t think she honestly knows what’s real, and what’s made up by her crafty, devious li’l mind. Unfortunately, she CAN be quite convincing.”

“She must’ve told Mister Cartwright you were out t’ git ‘er, or something,” the sheriff remarked thoughtfully.

“I cringe t’ think what horror stories she’s fabricated for Mister Cartwright, but as I just said, she can be very convincing. Seeing as how she and the Cartwrights are old friends, while I’VE never met the man . . . . ”

“I understand,” the sheriff said, nodding once again.

“Thank goodness Mister Cartwright’s somehow realized that there’s something amiss with Mrs. van Slyke, and thought to wire her husband,” Hoyt added.

“All’s well that ends well, Mister van Slyke,” the sheriff said. “I’ll need to know where I can reach you if I need you to testify against Mister Meredith, once he’s well enough to stand trial.”

Brett grimaced at the thought of returning to his god-forsaken patch of wilderness stuck in the middle of nowhere, far away from the luxuries he had long ago come to define as the necessities of life. “You can ask Mister McGreevy over at the bank to wire my father’s lawyer in San Francisco, if you need me.”

“In that case, Mister van Slyke, you and Mister Pyle are free to go,” the sheriff said.

Brett glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall behind the desk in the sheriff’s office. “Mister Pyle and I will be in plenty of time to catch the ten a.m. stage outta Placerville. I expect we’ll be in Virginia City around this time tomorrow morning . . . . ”

“Adam . . . Uncle Ben, I want to go with you.” The next day, early, Peggy, still clad in a nightshirt and robe, borrowed from Joe and Teresa respectively, stood at the foot of the dining room table, with arms folded across her chest, glaring at both father and son.

“Peggy, there’s no need for you to come,” Adam said. “Pa and I can . . . . ”

“No, Adam,” Peggy stubbornly stood her ground. “This is MY fight. It’s high time I started fighting it.”

Ben and Adam stared up at Peggy for a long moment, their faces twin masks of shock and amazement.

“Day before yesterday, your aunt was out there shooting at us. Today, it might be Brett,” Adam protested, the minute he found his voice. “No, Peggy, it’s much too dangerous for you.”

“It’s much too dangerous for you, too, Adam . . . and YOU, Uncle Ben . . . and for everyone else in this house,” Peggy said firmly. “Maybe Brett IS out there, waiting, but I want to tell you both something. After . . . after reading those articles Teresa gave me? The ones about Rosemary O’Malley? I’d much rather he shot me down in cold blood out there on the road than have to go back with him . . . in HIS custody.”

“Peggy’s absolutely right.”

Adam and Ben looked up and saw Teresa standing behind Peggy, with her hands resting lightly on the younger woman’s shoulders.

“I can’t argue against BOTH of you,” Adam sighed.

“I’ll have Candy unhitch the buckboard and hitch up the buggy,” Ben said, rising.

“Peggy, why don’t you come on upstairs with me,” Teresa invited with a smile. “I think I might have something that would be suitable to wear for going into town.”

Ben, Adam, and Peggy arrived at the office of Lucas Milburn, Esquire at a few minutes past eleven o’clock.

“Why don’t the two of you go on inside?” Adam suggested. “I’ll join you in a few minutes after I tether the horses.”

“All right,” Ben agreed. He alighted from the buggy, then turned and carefully helped Peggy to get down.

Inside, they found Lucas Milburn waiting for them. “Come in, Ben,” the lawyer invited his old friend and client. “I’ve been expecting you since Paul Martin gave me that wire from Doctor Phillips a couple o’ days ago.”

“Thank you,” Ben nodded politely. “Lucas, this is Peggy van Slyke . . . the young lady I told you about a few days ago. Peggy, my lawyer, Mister Milburn.”

“Please come in, Mrs. van Slyke, and sit down.”

“Thank you.”

Peggy and Ben seated themselves in the two plush chairs, placed directly in front of the lawyer’s massive desk.

“Adam, will be joining us in a few minutes,” Ben said.

“M-Mister Milburn?” Peggy ventured hesitantly.

“Yes, Mrs. van Slyke?”

“What are my chances? Of divorcing Brett AND getting custody of our child? I . . . I have to know.”

Lucas studied her face, set with an angry, rock like determination, for a moment. “To be honest, we’re fighting an up hill battle all the way . . . at best. You add the van Slyke family fortune, and this . . . this travesty of a competency hearing, the slope’s gotten even steeper,” the lawyer said soberly. “That’s just getting the divorce. Getting you custody of your child’s going to make things that much harder.”

“Thank you, Mister Milburn. I had to know what I’m facing.”

“Ben, how much longer do you think Adam’s going to be?”

“I’m getting a mite concerned, actually,” Ben said with an anxious frown. “Our buggy’s right out front. All he was going to do was tether the horses.”

“Perhaps some other matter came up requiring his attention,” Lucas suggested, hoping to ease his friend’s anxiety. “Why don’t we get started? I can recap for Adam later, when we . . . . ”

The sound of someone pounding insistently on the door interrupted the lawyer mid-sentence.

“Come on in, Adam,” Lucas invited.

The door opened slowly. Adam’s inert body was thrown into the room, bound hand and foot. Blood flowed like a swift river from an open wound on the back of his head, congealing and matting in his raven locks as it dried.

“ADAM!” Ben cried, as he leapt to his feet with lightening swiftness.

“Now you hold on right there, Mister Cartwright.”

Ben glanced up sharply and found himself looking into a pair of eyes, blacker than even the darkness of the deepest mining tunnel. There was no light, no life. He shuddered, unable to help himself.

Peggy felt the blood literally drain right out of her face, upon hearing and recognizing that voice. Her fingers wrapped around the ends of her chair arms and squeezed so hard, her knuckles turned snow white. “Oh, God, please . . . no,” she moaned softly.

The man entered the law office, armed with a rifle. He quietly closed the door, then looked over at Peggy and favored her with a brittle, mirthless smile. “Why hello, Pretty Peggy, M’ Dear!” he said by way of greeting. “ ‘N here I thought sure ol’ Jake was joshin’ when he told me he saw ya comin’ in here.”

“Mister van Slyke, so help me . . . if my son . . . . ”

Brett raised his weapon, taking dead aim at Ben’s chest. “Your concern for your boy’s touching, Mister Cartwright. Most touching, indeed! Why, it just warms the very cockles o’ my heart, it really does. But I’m having a reunion here . . . a reunion with my loving wife, whom I haven’t seen in nearly a WEEK now, so I’d advise ya to sit down and keep your mouth shut.” He turned at glared over at Lucas Milburn. “That goes f’r you, too, Lard Bucket.”

Lucas, his face pale and hands trembling, slowly lowered himself back down in his chair.

Peggy rose slowly and stepped back away from her chair. “Brett, I’m not going with you.”

“Aawww, now don’t be difficult, Peggy . . . my Pretty Peggy.”

“I mean it, Brett.”

“Is THAT any way t’ greet a loving husband who’s been worried sick about you?”

“I doubt that!”

“I guess I can’t blame ya for being angry, ‘n all, Darling, but I promise ya, Peggy . . . I promise ya, my word ‘n honor . . . things’ll be different.”

“No, Brett. I said I’m not going with you, and I mean it.”

The brittle smile relaxed into an angry sneer. “I’d strongly suggest ya change your mind, Pretty Peggy, ‘cause if ya don’t? I’m gonna kill your friend here.” He gave the unconscious Adam a hard swift kick in the rib cage for emphasis.

Ben was out of his chair and half way across the room before Brett even realized. Upon finally catching Ben’s movements out of the corner of his eyes, he pivoted and raised the rifle once again. “I’m not gonna tell ya again, Mister Cartwright. SIT DOWN.”

Seething with rage and frustration, Ben returned to his chair and sat town, poised on the edge. Every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to spring.

“Here!” Brett tossed a length of rope over toward Peggy. It landed in the chair she had just occupied. “Make yourself useful, an’ tie these two up.” He nodded toward Ben and Lucas.

Peggy stood unmoving, as if she had just taken root.

“G’won! Do as I say!” Brett snapped.

Peggy stepped over toward the chair and picked up the rope in her trembling hands.

“Better tie Mister Cartwright up first,” Brett ordered, “and while you’re workin’, you’d better be doin’ some real hard thinkin’.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Peggy replied in a wooden monotone.

“Oh yeah, there is. Y’ see, My Pretty Peggy, I got custody of ya. I can just come in and take you away, no questions asked,” Brett said in a low, menacing tone, as Peggy walked over toward Ben with the rope in both hands. “But, I don’t want it like that.”

“How DO you want it?” Peggy asked, her voice trembling with her own growing fear and anger.

“I want you to come with me, ‘cause ya WANT to.”

“Well, I DON’T want to, Brett. I don’t want to go back with you. I wish you’d just go away and leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that. You’re my wife. I love ya.”

“Love!” Peggy spat angrily. “You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

“You wound me, Pretty Peggy.”

“I doubt it.”

“You just keep on thinking things over,” Brett said. “You’ve got ten minutes to say you’re gonna come with me. If you refuse, I’ll give you another ten minutes . . . AFTER, I kill him.”

He nudged Adam with his foot.

“If after the next ten minutes, you don’t decide to come with me, I’ll kill Mister Cartwright, and ten minutes after THAT, I kill the lawyer.” He favored her with a malevolent smile that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “And it’ll be all YOUR fault, My Pretty Little Peggy.”

“Peggy, don’t listen to him,” Ben said sotto voce, as she tied his hands together behind his back.

Three brisk running steps brought Brett directly in front of Ben. “You . . . SHUT-UP!” he screamed, as he balled his fingers into a tight, iron hard fist. He lashed out, striking Ben across the face hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“Brett, stop it!” Peggy snapped.

“You won’t get away with this, Mister van Slyke.”

Brett turned and glared over at the lawyer. “I’ve gotta wire from my dear ol’ daddy back home in San Francisco that says I CAN. Y’ see, I got custody o’ Peggy now. Me! She’s all mine! I can take her anywhere I want.”

“You won’t get away with murder.”

Brett laughed. “What murder?”

“Killing US . . . Ben, Adam, and ME in cold blood.”

Peggy quickly tied Ben’s ankles, then rose, taking Ben’s gun from its holster. She quickly stepped to Ben’s right, taking care to conceal the weapon in the folds of the jumper she wore. “Brett?”

“What do YOU want?” Brett turned and rounded on her furiously.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Peggy, NO!” Ben protested.

“It’s . . . all right, Uncle Ben. I don’t want to see any of you killed. I’ll go with him.”

Brett smiled triumphantly. “My buggy’s outside. You g’won, get in it. I got some business t’ take care of first.”

“What business?” Peggy asked, taking care to keep her voice calm and even.

“Just business! Now g’won, do as I tell ya.”

Adam’s words, from the time they had played cowboys all those years ago, echoed back to the forefront of her mind and thoughts, just as clear now as they were the day he uttered them: “Peggy, always remember, a good cowgirl NEVER draws her gun, UNLESS she intends to USE it. You might end up NOT having to use it, and that’s well and good. But once you draw that gun, you must be prepared to follow through if you have to.” She tightened her fingers around the gun hidden within the folds of her jumper skirt.

“Peggy, GO! NOW!”

Her eyes fell on Adam, lying ominously still at her feet, cruelly trussed up like a calf for branding. She looked over at Ben. He was sick with worry over Adam, and at the same time, desirous of wrapping his fingers around Brett’s throat. She had come to know all of those feelings intimately, through two miscarriages, and over the last five months with the child she now carried. Her eyes moved to Lucas Milburn’s face, set with a fatalistic resolve . . . waiting.

“PEGGY . . . . ”

Finally, her eyes came to rest on Brett’s face, a veritable mask of insane, murderous fury. Looking into his eyes, she knew without even the slightest doubt that he intended to kill them . . . Adam, Uncle Ben, and Mister Milburn.

“PEGGY, YOU GET YOUR ASS OUTSIDE IN THAT BUGGY RIGHT NOW!” Brett screamed, red faced, on the edge of hysteria.

Peggy’s heart thudded wildly in her chest. She wavered, on the edge of fainting.

“Aww, come on, Li’l Love Bug.” Brett’s face and tone abruptly changed. The raw, murderous fury was suddenly gone, almost as if it had never been. In its place was the face of a whipped puppy, eagerly returning to the master who had so cruelly abused it. “I promise ya, Peg, I’ll do better . . . . ” he wheedled.

Peggy squeezed her eyes shut against the sight of his face. “Brett, you’ve made that promise to me so many times, I can’t count them anymore. Every time, every last time, you’ve BROKEN that promise.”

“Just one more chance, Li’l Love Bug, please? Pretty please?”

She was surprised at how much she desperately yearned to give him that one last chance he begged for so ardently. In spite of all the chances she HAD given him, all the promises made only to be broken, a part of herself still longed to give him yet another chance. Her eyelids lifted, and her hold on the weapon concealed in the folds of her skirt lessened.

“You won’t regret it, Peg, I swear . . . you won’t regret it this time.” Smiling, sensing victory within his grasp, Brett stepped closer. “Now you, g’won! Get yourself out in that buggy. I’ll be right out just as soon as I finish up in here.”

Peggy looked into his face, her eyes meeting and locking onto his. There, much to her horror, she saw his anger, his desire to murder burning with the same blinding intensity as the sun. Her hand tightened once more on the gun. “No, Brett,” she said very quietly, and very firmly. She withdrew the gun from its place of concealment and aimed it square at his chest. “Drop that rifle right now.”

Brett gazed down at the gun in complete astonishment, then back up at her. His smile twisted into a sneer. “Come on, Peg, quit the kiddin’.” He took another step closer.

“I’m NOT kidding, Brett, you stay right there where you are . . . and put down that rifle.” She took another step back.

“Aww, Peg, you ‘n I both know you’re not gonna use that thing on me,” Brett said as he continued moving toward her, with the same relentlessness of a cougar stalking its prey. He put out his hand. “Now why don’tcha hand it over, before someone gets hurt?”

“Brett, I told you no closer.”

Brett laughed at her.

Peggy, without further word, lowered the barrel of her weapon and squeezed the trigger. The weapon discharged, sending a bullet tearing into Brett’s thigh with enough force to knock him off his feet. The rifle flew out of his hands, landing within inches of Ben’s feet.

Brett looked up at her, his eyes round with shocked horror and his lower jaw flapping uselessly.

“You so much as bat an eyelash, Brett, the next bullet will find itself in your chest or your head.” Peggy’s voice had a distinctly audible edge of steel. “Mister Milburn, would you please untie Mister Cartwright?”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Ma’am.” Lucas moved out from behind his desk with astonishing swiftness, given a man of his bulk. He immediately set to work freeing Ben’s hands and feet.

The instant Ben was free, he bent down and seized Brett’s rifle in both hands. He quickly aimed both barrels square at Brett’s chest. “Lucas, Peggy and I have him covered. Get Sheriff Coffee, and please . . . send someone to fetch Doc Martin.”

“Right away, Ben.”

After Lucas left, Ben looked over at Peggy, astonishment mixing with a touch of pride and a generous portion of gratitude. “You saved our lives, Peggy,” he said simply. “Thank you.”

On the floor, Adam groaned softly and began to stir. Peggy and Ben both glanced upward for a brief second and whispered a heartfelt “Thank YOU” in unison.

Peggy glanced down at Brett. He remained exactly where he fell staring up at her as he might a stranger. “Uncle Ben?”

“Y-yes, Peggy?”

“I’ve got Brett well covered, if you want to look after Adam.”

Ben immediately placed the rifle on Lucas Milburn’s desk. He paused to nod his thanks to Peggy, before dropping to his knees beside his oldest.

“P-Pa?”

“It’s all right, Adam, you lie still,” Ben said, his voice unsteady.

“M-my head hurts. Wha— happened?”

“That, Son, is quite a story,” Ben replied as he set to work untying the knots that bound Adam’s wrists together. He looked up at Peggy and smiled. “I think I’ll let the heroine of the tale tell you as soon as you’re feeling better.”

“Adam . . . are you SURE you want to do this?”

Upstairs, in the bedroom he and his wife shared in the house where he spent his adolescence and much of his young adult years, Adam stopped, and turned with stiff, agonized slowness to face Teresa, standing behind him. His smile, pained and forced, was meant to reassure. It did nothing of the sort. “Yes, Teresa, I WANT to do this . . . very much.”

His slow, torturous gait, that poker stiff posture, the stiff smile made her wince.

“I’ll be fine, Teresa,” he promised, duly noting the naked anxiety in her face and eyes. “Honest!”

“Promise?” she queried in a small voice.

“I cross my heart.”

Two weeks ago, Adam, his father, and Peggy went to Lucas Milburn’s office, to find out what Peggy’s options were and to begin setting them in motion. There, on the street just outside, Brett van Slyke, Peggy’s husband, had taken him wholly and completely unaware. One minute he was securing the horses to the hitching post, the next he was bound hand and foot, staring up into Pa’s anxious face. Later on that evening, after supper, Peggy had supplied both himself and Teresa with the intervening details. Adam was flabbergasted when she came to the part about borrowing Pa’s gun and shooting Brett in the leg, and every bit as proud of her, for her courage and quick thinking, as he would have been of his own daughter, Dio.

In the days that followed, neither Adam, Teresa, nor any of the other members of the Cartwright family could help BUT notice a new quality strength and confidence in Peggy’s voice and in the way she carried herself. Adam had known that she had this kind of strength within, from the time she was a child. Now SHE knew.

Though Adam’s head wound had almost completely healed, he suffered a couple of fractured ribs when Brett kicked him. Doctor Martin had dutifully done all HE could. He bound Adam’s torso so tight, drawing a deep breath became a difficult task, at best. The doctor sternly admonished Adam to rest.

“ . . . perhaps the many years you’ve been away from the Ponderosa and from certain influences will incline you to follow doctor’s orders, unlike others I could name . . . . ” Paul Martin delivered the words of that last injunction with a stern, pointed glare at his father, whose subsequent feigned innocence was almost comical.

Doctor Martin had also dispensed a strong painkiller, “to be used ONLY when absolutely necessary.” The long, interminable ride home from the doctor’s office in town over the bumpy dirt road leading from Virginia City to the Ponderosa was one of those absolutely necessary times.

All in all, that first week might have actually been tolerable despite of his injuries, had it not been for Hop Sing’s malodorous poultices, all applied with the blessing of Doctor Martin, and being forced to share close quarters with a young sister, impatiently recovering from her own injuries. Last Friday afternoon, the good doctor had stopped by to look in on Adam, Stacy, and Peggy . . . .

  
“Stacy, by all the medical authority vested in me, I now pronounce you fully recovered,” Paul declared with a broad grin.

“Thank heaven!” Adam’s sardonic response shot right out from between his lips without his even thinking.

“A . . . MEN !” Stacy immediately retorted, favoring her brother with a murderous glare. She then returned her attention to the doctor. “Doctor Martin, you didn’t tell me! Can I ride Sun Dancer in the Independence Day Race in two weeks?” she posed her question, then anxiously held her breath.

“I see no reason why not, just so long as you don’t take anymore nasty spills off of Blaze Face, Sun Dancer, or any OTHER horse, Young La— ”

Stacy turned the same murderous glare on the good doctor, that she had on Adam a scant moment before.

“ . . . er, uhh make that Young WOMAN!” Paul quickly amended, trying very hard not to smile.

Satisfied with the doctor’s answer to her question and his immediate correction of address, Stacy let out a deafening, “YEEEEEE HA!” then bolted for the great outdoors.

“Doctor Martin, you have my undying gratitude,” Adam said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.

“What can I say, Adam?” Paul said with a shrug. “Your sister’s a very lovely young woman, EXCEPT when she’s recovering from illness or injury.”

Ben, who had been sitting quietly on the settee through out the exchange, shook his head, chuckling. “I sure can’t disagree with you on THAT score, Paul.”

Adam rose stiffly from the blue chair next to the fireplace and glared down at Ben, seated on the settee. “Pa, I’M ready to throttle her! How can YOU sit there and . . . and laugh like that?”

“Very easy, Son,” Ben retorted without missing a beat. “I’m also remembering a certain young man, oohhh around the same age Stacy is NOW, who fell and sprained his ankle while he was out hunting about a month before the first time HE rode in the Virginia City Independence Day Race. If I remember correctly, there was some question as to whether or not he was going to be able to ride Beauty, that new horse of his.”

“Atalanta, Pa, NOT Beauty,” Adam said sullenly. “Beauty was later.”

“Well, as I recall, that young man was fit to be tied, too, until the doctor could tell HIM whether or not he’d be able to race Atalanta,” Ben continued.

“Aww, come on, Pa. I was no where NEAR as difficult to live with as Stacy has been this past week,” Adam vigorously protested.

“That’s quite true. You WERE no where near as difficult to live with as your sister has been this past week.”

A smug, triumphant smile slowly spread across Adam’s lips.

“I’d say you were at least ten times WORSE,” Ben declared with a broad grin.

Adam’s smile quickly evaporated into a dark scowl. “I most certainly and assuredly was NOT.”

“Oh yeah you were, Adam,” Hoss immediately chimed in.

“Hoss, it’s a well known fact that as person gets OLDER, the memory grows dimmer,” Joe added. His eyes twinkled with mischievous bedevilment. “You and I need to refresh our OLDEST brother’s faulty memory.”

“That’s NOT necessary.”

“No, it’s not necessary, Adam, but it IS the well-mannered, courteous thing to do,” Joe returned.

“It certainly is,” Teresa agreed wholeheartedly, “and besides. I’d like to hear all about this myself.”

“Hey!” Adam growled. “You’re supposed to be on MY side . . . . ”

  
“I AM on your side,” Teresa said favoring her husband with a bemused look.

“Sorry. I had no idea I was thinking aloud,” Adam said, as the last vestiges of reverie faded from his mind and thoughts.

“Need some help getting down the stairs?”

Adam shook his head, wincing as stiff, sore muscles protested the move. “I can manage.”

Teresa nodded and moved in front of him. Adam and Teresa descended the stairs together, slowly, the latter keeping herself three steps ahead. This morning, he was nattily dressed in the same gray cotton suit he had worn as best man at Matt and Clarissa Wilson’s wedding, going on two months ago now. Thank goodness Hop Sing had successfully removed all the wedding cake and icing, end results of a cake fight in which he and his youngest brother had become embroiled during the reception.

Ben and Peggy, both seated on the settee, waiting patiently, rose and turned expectantly toward the stairs, just as Teresa and Adam reached the bottom step. Ben was also well dressed this morning, in his own gray linen suit, fresh pressed and starched white shirt, and navy blue tie. Peggy wore the first of Mrs. Pomeroy’s creations, a loose fitting cotton jumper, the same color green as tree leaves at the height of summer. She also wore a white long sleeved blouse, with a sash for a collar, tied in a bow.

“Looks like were all ready,” Ben said, as he and Peggy joined Adam and Teresa.

The front door opened. Joe entered, grinning from ear to ear. “Peggy, your chariot awaits,” he declared, as he offered her his arm.

“Thank you, Joe,” Peggy took his arm with a warm smile. “You know, you’re starting to sound a little bit like Adam.”

“Don’t look now, Folks, but I think I’ve just been insulted,” Joe retorted good-naturedly.

“I know I have,” Adam quipped, without missing a beat.

Outside, Joe dutifully held the horses while Ben helped Peggy to climb up into the buggy first, then Adam.

“Joe . . . Teresa, I don’t know when we’re going to get back, but we should certainly be home by suppertime,” Ben said.

“You’d better be, Pa,” Joe said. “Hop Sing’s been cooking up a special supper to celebrate since the crack of dawn this morning.

Ben climbed up into the buggy, and took up the reins. “We certainly have a lot to celebrate,” he declared, before setting off.

A companionable silence descended upon the trio as they made their way to Virginia City. Adam leaned back against the seat, closed his eyes, and allowed his thoughts to drift back once more to that last trip to Lucas Milburn’s office. He had vague memories of his father and Mister Milburn untying his hands and feet, then carefully helping him up off the floor over to the plush chair behind the lawyer’s desk. Peggy stood, tall and proud, glaring down at Brett like a veritable Bellona, the Roman Goddess of War. She held his father’s gun firmly in hand, her chin set with a fierce, stubborn determination, and the hard glint of steel in her vivid blue eyes.

Brett van Slyke never moved from the spot where he fell, after Peggy had put that bullet in his thigh. His mouth hung open slightly. Though his eyes were glued to Peggy’s face, his focus was elsewhere, many, many miles away. Adam remembered his father telling him later that, when Sheriff Coffee came, Brett offered no resistance. In fact, he never moved, never so much as batted an eyelash. Clem Foster and another man lifted and carried him down to the jail, after Doctor Martin had examined him.

“He was like a dead man walking, Adam,” Ben had told him privately, the following morning. “His heart’s still beating, he walks if someone leads him by the hand, he even eats if someone feeds him, but . . . . ” Ben shuddered, “that vital part of himself, that makes him . . . that makes all of us the people we are, each different from everyone else . . . is gone.”

Adam was reminded, then, of Ross and Delphine Marquett, old friends, now many years dead. He and Ross had been the best of friends since they were children. When Ross married Delphine, Adam had the honor of serving as best man. Five years after the wedding, Ross began to grow jealously possessive of Delphine, beating her for offenses, mostly imagined. At the same time, a deep-seated hatred for Adam took root and festered. Ross murdered Delphine in a jealous fit of rage, and shot down four men in cold blood in the course of a stagecoach robbery.

In the end, Adam was finally forced to kill Ross Marquett in self-defense. But, in those last, final moments before death, Ross, the Ross HE knew, was back. He had no memory of the preceding ten months, no memory of having killed Delphine, or of trying to kill Adam. Ross didn’t even know he was mortally wounded. Adam remembered the words of the doctor he consulted, regarding Ross’ mental deterioration. Insanity was akin to the person stepping through a dark gate. Had that also happened to Brett van Slyke at some point along the way . . . . ? #

“Adam? Adam, were here.”

The sound of Peggy’s voice drew Adam from his melancholy musings.

“Wake up, Adam,” Ben said quietly.

“I wasn’t sleeping, exactly, just lost in thought.”

Ben nodded, then alighted from the buggy. “Peggy, why don’t you go ahead in,” he suggested after helping her down. “Tell Mister Milburn that Adam and I will be in directly.”

“Sure thing, Uncle Ben.”

Ben stood watch as Adam, at his own insistence, climbed down from the buggy. Lucas Milburn met them at the door. “Ben . . . Adam, please come in,” he invited them with a warm, and weary smile. “Everyone else is already here.”

Inside the lawyer’s office, two men, both strangers sat primly in chairs placed side by side, perpendicular to Lucas Milburn’s desk. Peggy occupied the padded chair, directly opposite the two men. Ben and Adam both were surprised to see that Laura Dayton was also present. Clad in the blue suit she had worn the day she and Aunt Lil visited the Ponderosa, she stood demurely behind the chair in which Peggy sat, with head bowed, with hands clasped in front of her.

“Laura . . . . ”

She glanced up sharply upon hearing Adam speak her name. “H-hello, Adam . . . Ben,” she greeted them with a timorous voice and a rueful smile. “If . . . if you don’t want me here, I’ll leave . . . . ”

“Laura, speaking for myself, I’m glad you came,” Adam said quietly. “You’re more than welcome to stay . . . if it’s alright with Peggy, of course.”

“See, Mother?” Peggy looked up at Laura and smiled. “I TOLD you it would be ok.”

“Please . . . sit down,” Adam invited, gesturing toward the empty chair next to Peggy.

“I thought I’d save that for you, Adam,” Laura said quietly. “I heard you’d been injured recently . . . . ” She suddenly broke off, and looked away.

“Thank you, Laura, I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Adam said in all sincerity as he sat down beside Peggy.

“Ben . . . Adam, this is Mister Horace van Slyke . . . . ” Lucas nodded to the elder of the two strangers, “and his lawyer, Alistair Farnell. Mister van Slyke and Mister Farnell, this is Mister Adam Cartwright, Mrs. van Slyke’s advisor, and his father, Mister Benjamin Cartwright. I understand you both already know Mrs. Dayton.”

Cool, polite nods were exchanged, by way of acknowledging the introductions.

The man introduced as Horace van Slyke was a small, fragile man, his body thin, and emaciated. He appeared to be roughly the same age as Ben, maybe a little older, with iron gray hair, that encircled the sides and back of his head with a halo of fine wispy tendrils leaving his crown of his head completely bare. His face, cadaverously pale and deeply lined, with sunken cheeks, and perpetual down turned mouth, rigidly set, lent him the appearance of one always weary. His grayish white eyebrows, locked in a permanent scowl were a disturbing contrast to his sharp, piercing black eyes, round and staring, like those of a frightened boy caught with his arm shoulder deep in the cookie jar.

Horace van Slyke’s frail appearance shocked Adam. Surely a man capable of sweeping a murder under the proverbial rug by having the death in question declared a suicide, and having a daughter-in-law declared mentally incompetent in a court of law because she sought to extricate herself from a life threatening situation, would project a more imposing presence.

“Now that everyone is FINALLY here . . . . ” Horace van Slyke directed a withering glare in the general direction of Adam and Peggy, “maybe we can get on with things. I’ve got a stage to catch this afternoon.”

Alistair Farnell, a big, robust man with jet-black hair, poker straight and full beard, all neatly trimmed, opened the leather briefcase on his lap and extricated a six-page document. “Mister van Slyke has agreed to allow Mrs. Peggy van Slyke to divorce her husband, Brett van Slyke, on grounds of adultery and cruelty,” he began. “Mrs. van Slyke will also have full custody of their unborn child. No member of the van Slyke family will in any way interfere in the lives of Mrs. van Slyke and her child. They also agree not to make any attempts to find or contact her, or the child until said child comes of age, and is legally able to decide for him or herself.

“Brett van Slyke has been released into the custody of his father. He stands accused of assault and battery in Virginia City, Nevada; assault and battery, rape, and first-degree murder in San Francisco; and assault and battery, attempted rape, damage to private property, and murder in Placerville . . . . ”

“What?!” Horace protested in a vigorous tone at complete odds with his gaunt appearance.

“Murder, Mister van Slyke,” Alistair reiterated. “I got word from Placerville earlier this morning that Mister Meredith finally died late last night.”

“I thought he was unconscious the whole time.”

“It seems he briefly came to a few hours before he died. In those few minutes, he named your son as the man who shot him, Sir.”

“I thought it was established that my son shot Mister Meredith in self defense,” Horace snapped, his dark eyes burning with fury.

“It was, until the sheriff investigated the allegations both your son and Mister Pyle made concerning Mister Meredith, and found them all to be false.”

“I’m STILL well rid o’ him!,” Horace muttered bitterly. “That Meredith was a damned incompetent fool! Botched everything from start to finish.”

“That didn’t entitle your son to take his life, Mister van Slyke.” Though Adam’s words were calm, Ben and Peggy saw his lips thin and jaw tighten with anger.

“To, ummm continue,” Alistair said pointedly. “Court hearings will be held in all the afore mentioned jurisdictions to determine Brett van Slyke’s mental competence. In the meantime, pending the outcome of such hearings, Brett van Slyke will be kept confined. The last items include overturning the ruling against Mrs. van Slyke at the trial held to declare her mentally incompetent, and establishing a trust fund for the child. Responsibility for managing said trust fund will be granted to the child’s mother.”

“Mrs. van Slyke, are the terms agreeable to you?” Lucas turned and looked over at her expectantly.

“They are.”

“Excellent,” Alistair said briskly, “all we need is your signature . . . . ”

“Not so fast,” Adam said. “I’d like to look those documents over first.”

Alistair bristled, but handed the documents over to Adam.

Horace van Slyke focused the intensity of his angry, withering glare solely on Adam. “You don’t trust me, do you, Boy.”

Adam lowered the pages of the document in hand and returned Horace’s glare with a particular look of disdain he, for the most part, used on his own children the times they very blatantly tried to put one over. “Mister van Slyke, taking the probable age of your son into account, you can’t be all that much older than I am.” His tone carried that subtle condescending note that had always set his youngest brother off, during their growing up years. “I would appreciate it if you addressed me as MISTER Cartwright, as would certainly be more appropriate.”

Horace averted his gaze away from Adam’s face to his own hands, lying one over the other on top of a plain, unadorned mahogany cane.

“As for the matter of trust, Mister van Slyke,” Adam continued. “Neither Mrs. van Slyke nor I have any reason at all TO trust you.” He returned his attention to the documents.

Ten minutes, passed, then fifteen. Ben stopped counting the number of times Horace van Slyke pointedly took his watch from his pocket to check the time after the first dozen. Finally Adam finished reading over the sixth and last page of the document. “Everything APPEARS to be in order,” he said slowly.

“Then let’s get the damned thing signed,” Horace snapped.

“Mister Milburn, have YOU had a chance to look this document over?”

Lucas shook his head. “No, Adam, I haven’t.”

“Before Mrs. van Slyke puts pen to paper on ANYTHING, I would like Mister Milburn to look over that document and advise us accordingly,” Adam said.

“I agree with Mister Cartwright completely,” Peggy added firmly.

“Mister van Slyke is not used to having his integrity so harshly questioned,” Alistair Farnell said, glaring over at Peggy, then Adam.

Adam favoring Horace’s lawyer with a thin, brittle smile. “As I said before, neither Mrs. van Slyke nor I have any reason whatsoever to trust Mister van Slyke. Both of us agree that her interests are best served by erring on the side of prudence.” He handed the document over to his father, who in turn, passed it on to Lucas Milburn.

“Mister Cartwright, I assure you . . . . ”

“Yes, I know. That Mister van Slyke is an honest man, whose integrity is above reproach,” Adam said in a wry tone. “I would also like to see a copy of that court order overturning the verdict of Mrs. van Slyke’s mental incompetence.”

Alistair lapsed into a sullen silence, as he opened his briefcase and pulled out the document Adam had requested.

“Thank you,” Adam nodded, accepting the proffered document. He glanced over it, then nodded. “I AM correct in assuming this is Mrs. van Slyke’s copy?”

“Yes,” Alistair growled, reluctantly.

“I will look over these documents this afternoon,” Lucas Milburn said as he gathered all of the papers together. “Where are you gentlemen staying?”

“At the International Hotel,” Alistair said.

“Splendid. As I said, I will make these documents top priority,” Lucas continued. “Assuming everything is in order, I’ll bring these documents to you at the International Hotel for Mister van Slyke’s signature. After that, you’re both free to catch that stage. I’ll forward Mister van Slyke’s copy of the agreement to San Francisco. Mrs. van Slyke’s copies will remain with me.”

Horace van Slyke rose stiffly, leaning heavily on his cane. “Let’s go, Farnell,” he snapped imperiously.

“One MORE thing, Mister van Slyke,” Adam said. “Mrs. van Slyke’s financial advisor will be wiring instructions regarding the money to be placed in her child’s trust fund. We would appreciate it if you left the name and address of the individual responsible for handling the transfer of funds.”

Horace’s entire body went rigid. He turned slowly and favored Adam with an angry glare meant to kill. “I had planned to deposit that money in the financial institution with which I do most of my business.”

“That will be fine for the time being,” Adam countered taking care to keep his tone measured and even. “However, Mrs. van Slyke does not intend to return to San Francisco. Since she IS to be in control of the trust until her child comes of age, it would be far more practical to deposit those funds in a bank nearer to wherever she decides to establish residency.”

“You may instruct her financial advisor to wire his instructions to Mister Farnell,” Horace spat.

Alistair reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a business card with the address of his office in San Francisco. He silently handed the card to Adam.

“Will that be all?”

Adam nodded. “Yes, Mister van Slyke, that will be all.”

Horace turned heel and walked out, without bothering to acknowledge the others present, including his own lawyer. Alistair Farnell followed meekly behind his employer.

“Mister Milburn, thank you so very much!” Peggy said gratefully, after her soon to be EX-father-in-law and his lawyer had left. “You, too, Uncle Ben.”

“I’m glad I could be of help,” Lucas said, smiling broadly. “This may be highly unprofessional of me, but anytime I can get the best of a stuffed shirt like Horace van Slyke and his hot shot city lawyer, well . . . that makes my day, too.”

“We’re always here to help out our friends, Peggy,” Ben said quietly. “We certainly count you as one of our friends.”

Peggy then turned to the man who had been the most supportive. “Adam, a mere thank you seems horribly inadequate. If it weren’t for those fractured ribs I’d give you . . . and Teresa . . . a big bear hug and a kiss.”

“Teresa will probably insist on collecting HER bear hug and kiss the minute we reach home,” Adam said with a smile. “As for me, you can hug gently for now. I’ll collect on the bear hug when Doc Martin pronounces ME fully recovered.”

Peggy stepped over and very carefully slipped her arms around Adam’s waist and hugged gingerly. “Thank you, Adam. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I’m glad I was here to help,” Adam said, placing his own arms around her shoulders. “But YOU’RE the real heroine, Peggy. I don’t want you to EVER forget that.”

“We’d best be moving along,” Ben said.

“Peggy?” Laura Dayton, who had remained silent throughout the proceedings, ventured hesitantly. “May I . . . I’d like to talk with you, uh privately . . . if I may?”

“It’s all right with Adam and me, if YOU’RE of a mind, Peggy,” Ben said. Adam nodded in agreement. “We’ll be outside.”

“Mrs. van Slyke, I just remembered a matter that I need to take up with Ben,” Lucas said, moving out from behind his desk. “You and Mrs. Dayton . . . please, feel free to take all the time you need.”

“Peggy,” Laura turned to her daughter, once they were alone, “I . . . I know this may seem like only a drop of water compared to a whole ocean, but . . . I’m sorry. I am so sorry for what’s happened to you over the years, since Will left, and . . . and for all that you suffered with Brett. God help me I . . . I knew, I couldn’t help knowing, b-but I never did anything . . . oh, Peggy . . . . ” A torrent of weeping drowned the remainder of her words.

Peggy immediately put her arms around her mother and held her close as she wept. “Apology accepted, Mother,” she said quietly, with all sincerity. “We were both scared, not only with Brett, but with Aunt Lil, too. That’s all over now. You and I are free to pick up and go on.”

“Y-you might not b-believe me when I say this . . . but I love you, Peggy. I tried to do the best for us, even . . . even though I failed miserably.”

“I know, Mother, and I love you, too.”

Laura hugged Peggy closed and held on tight for a long moment. “I sure wish you were coming with me to Denver . . . to Aunt Marian’s.”

“I can’t go anywhere much until the baby comes, and I’m back on my feet,” Peggy said. “After that, I need to decide about how I’m going to make my own way in the world.”

“Do you know yet what you want to do?”

“After I got Uncle Ben’s books caught up for him, Adam told me I seemed to have a flair for bookkeeping, maybe accounting. I’ve always loved working and playing around with numbers.”

“Are you still going to Sacramento with Adam and . . . and his wife?”

Peggy nodded. “They know of a good school there, where I can learn more about accounting, bookkeeping, and some things about other secretarial work. Adam said they would even help me find a job.”

“I’ll write when I get to Aunt Marian’s . . . if you want me to . . . . ”

“I’d like that very much, Mother. I’ll be leaving Uncle Ben’s within the next few days,” Peggy said. “Teresa’s mother will be arriving with their children . . . Adam’s and Teresa’s, that is. I thought it might be more considerate on my part to move out and give the Cartwrights a chance to visit with each other, without an interloper butting in.” She smiled. “Doc and Mrs. Martin have very kindly invited me to move in with THEM until the baby comes and I’m back on my feet. For now you can write to me at the Martins here in Virginia City. When I get to Sacramento, I’ll send you my address there.”

Laura smiled. “I’m so glad thing are working out so well for you, Peggy.” Her smile faded. “I only wish . . . that things had turned out better for Aunt Lil.”

“She shot and wounded Stacy, Mother, and I understand she came very close to hitting Adam. She could very easily have killed THEM, along with Teresa and Hoss. Aunt Lil’s got to stand trial for that, and pay the consequences.”

“She was desperate, Peggy.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s allowed to shoot at people.”

Laura nodded, and looked away. “I . . . I suppose . . . . ”

“Have you been able to see Aunt Lil, Mother?”

Laura morosely shook her head. “She won’t let me see her. Hasn’t, since Ben and Adam had the sheriff release me.”

Peggy felt a measure of relief in that knowledge. Her mother was now completely free of Aunt Lil’s domination and influence. She very much wanted things to remain that way. “When do you leave for Denver?”

“This afternoon on the two o’clock stage.”

“Do you want me there . . . to see you off?”

Laura shook her head. “I think I’d rather say good-bye here, Peggy. Do you mind?”

“Not at all, Mother,” Peggy hugged Laura again.

“Good bye, Peggy, and I wish you and your baby all the best.”

“I wish the same for YOU, Mother.”

“I hope you’ll come see me and Aunt Marian in Denver.”

“You and Aunt Marian will be more than welcome to come visit me in Sacramento, too, Mother.”

“I love you, Peggy.”

“I love you, too.”

  
Epilogue . . . .

That evening, the Cartwright family, which by extension included Hop Sing, Candy, and Peggy van Slyke gathered around the table for a special meal to celebrate Peggy’s heroism and her newly won freedom. The men were all attired in their best suits, with tie. Hop Sing had also dressed for the occasion in a long tunic, reaching to his ankles, made of green silk hand printed with Chinese dragons and other animals. Stacy wore the dress she had worn to what had come to be known as the Wedding of the Century. Teresa looked stunningly beautiful in the beautiful scarlet silk ball gown she had insisted on bringing, “just in case.” This afternoon, Mrs. Pomeroy had dropped off a new dress, made of a blue material that complimented Peggy’s eyes, “suitable for church,” as the old woman had declared so pointedly.

“ . . . and now for main dish,” Hop Sing announced as he entered the dining room bearing an enormous platter with a roast pig, complete with apple, decked with garlands of herbs and other vegetables. He dutifully set the meat tray down at the head of the table, directly in front of the Cartwright clan patriarch, then handed him the carving utensils.

“Hop Sing, you’ve . . . well, you’ve plain and simply outdone yourself,” Ben declared with a broad grin. “This roast pig is magnificent!”

“It’s got a magnificent aroma, too . . . which is makin’ me hungry enough t’ eat a whole herd o’ horses,” Hoss declared with a pointed, longing glance at the roast pig.

“Now you just HOLD those horses a minute, Son,” Ben admonished Hoss with a smile. “It’s only good manners to serve up the woman of the hour first.” He glanced down at Peggy seated near the foot of the table. “Peggy, if you’d please pass your plate up this way.”

“Uncle Ben, may I propose a toast first . . . before we eat?” Peggy asked.

“You’d better make it quick, Peggy,” Joe quipped. “It’s getting a little too creepy with Hoss looking at me like that . . . and drooling.”

Smiling, Peggy started to rise.

Hoss was out of his chair in an instant. Moving with surprising speed, given his size, he was standing behind Peggy’s chair within seconds. “Here y’ are, Peggy, please . . . allow me.” He graciously held her chair, as she rose.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Peggy said in a voice, loud, clear, and confident. “First to the entire Cartwright family. I’ve always remembered you as kind, decent, generous people, always there, ready to lend a helping hand to family, friend, and stranger alike. I’m very grateful none of that changed, because . . . if it hadn’t been for your kindness and generosity . . . I wouldn’t be here right now. Uncle Ben, Hoss, Joe, Stacy, and Hop Sing, for all the blessings you give others, may you receive back again a hundred fold.”

Everyone seated around the table touched glasses each with his or her neighbor, before drinking in unison.

“Second,” Peggy continued, after everyone had drunk the first toast, “last maybe, but hardly least, to Adam and Teresa, for being there. I don’t know WHAT I would have done without YOU.”

Adam took a slow, deep, ragged breath, then closed his eyes momentarily, steeling himself. He exhaled then rose stiffly from his place at the dining room table, trying his best not to wince at the pain and stiffness in his chest and abdomen. “I’d also like to propose a toast . . . to Peggy, a strong, courageous, lovely young woman, who a couple of weeks ago saved not only MY life, but the lives of my father and Mister Milburn as well.” Smiling, he raised the wine glass in hand. “To Peggy,” Adam said quietly, favoring her with an affectionate smile. “My heroine!”

The End.  
August 2002  
Revised: December 2007

***

1\. Bonanza episode #56, “The Dark Gate,” written by Ward Hawkins


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